Happy Agony
by cloogle
Summary: Mercilessly, she continues to assaults my senses until I think I can no longer bear the frenzy of sensation in my pelvis, abdomen, heart and head. Nothing feels quite like desire. Nothing hurts better than love. She is the best I never had. AU.
1. Proving The Unprovable

**Note: **This is my first unplotted story. I've inklings of where I'm taking it but am going to let it play out as naturally as possible. This is new for me as I usually rely heavily on plot. Hope you like it. Comments appreciated even if they just say: 'It passed the time'. Thanks.

**Note:** No offense intended. It's just a case of wish fulfilment. These ladies do not belong to me. This story is _merely _a projection of the kinds of people they _could _have been.

**Note:** AU because Faberry is canon (see my profile for the Faberry!Glee episodes so far)

* * *

_"Acting is happy agony."_ - Jean-Paul Sartre

Click. "Drat," I whisper to myself. Click. "Double drat." The dastardly pigeon had moved again. I swear it knows I'm watching, and is trying to be difficult on purpose. "This is real film in here you know, not digital," I tell the bird as I wave my nineteen-eighties Kodak at it. "I don't need four pictures of your tail-end, Mister." I don't like to admit it to myself, but I'm just killing time and running out the clock while I wait for it to turn 9am. Mouthing off at street creatures like a bag lady is just one way to keep my mind off matters. Click. There, done. "Thank you," I say to the bird with a half bow, garnering me ten or so curious looks and one article in the New York Post on how I've lost my mind.

Walking around the block twice more, I finally come to a stop at the apartment building's foyer doors. Hanging back, I light a Natural American Spirit cigarette and lean against the wall, enveloping myself in a haze of blissful smoke. I'm reminded of black and white movies, of 'Brief Encounter' with its romantic, angst-filled platform embraces, and sinister, graveyard-foggy B-movies. Reaching over the top of my head with my left hand I rub at an itch beneath my right ear, not wishing to get ash in my hair if I use my right. Instead, as I check my watch, ash drops onto my shoes. "Wah," I yelp, unladylike, jumping to kick it off.

Despairing momentarily at my own bad habit, I gently pucker my lips around the cigarette's tip and draw in another deep, sumptuous lungful. Closing my eyes, I hold it there for a good ten seconds; a singular feeling. Everything disappears for that time; the thud of my heart is the only movement in the world. If you're gonna be naughty, draw it out. Trust me. Exhaling my last delicious plume, I crush the cigarette and put it in the trash.

Hands deep in the pockets of my pale gray, woolen coat, I stand with legs apart, shoes tilting to the sides as I bite my lip and taste my own lipstick. It's still only 8.25am and too cold hang around. Naïve of me to think I could hover outside Lea's building for thirty minutes without feeling like a damned stalker. New headline: 'Lea bans Dianna from her home.'

Drifting round the corner, I settle in a coffee shop and order one of the specials. It's fairly disgusting, but that only helps me nurture it for an extended period of time. From the grubby little corner table, I'm able to observe all the comings and goings of the patrons' daily lives: their vanities, hopes, desires and hates. It keeps me content. Reading the menu for the fourth time, my thoughts drift once again. Like they always do.

Snapping myself out of my reverie, I send messages to a few friends, requesting meet-ups and nights out. Busy, busy, busy. It's important. Friends are important.

* * *

Finally. 8.45am. Early but acceptable. Well not if she is sleeping, but she won't be. I know she won't. I rap my knuckles on the door and wait, heart in throat as usual. My eye has a small twitch. Sleep hasn't granted me a peaceful night in so long. Sweeping my fingers through my hair restlessly, I wait. What if she _is_ asleep? Darn. Now I'm just rude. The image of her sweet little frame swathed in sheets is knocked from my mind as the door swings open and Theo collides with me. I wasn't expecting that.

"Di. Sorry," he mutters into my hair as part of a half-kiss. He takes me into his arms. He's sweet. Suddenly a firm hand is at my back and is pushing me through the open door. "Present for you," he shouts before leaving.

"Hey! My Agronsky girl." Lea is by the breakfast counter. She hops off a stool and approaches, sucking her thumb clean of toast crumbs. Launching her arms around my back like she hasn't seen me in years, she plants a kiss on my cheek just shy of my lips.

"Sarfaticakes," I coo into her ear as she slaps my ass. Hard. The skin stings pleasantly as I rub the area. "Ow. What did you do that for?" I ask as she drifts back towards the kitchenette.

"To make you scowl. I don't like you being all pretty around me," she grins. It makes me want to slap her butt right back, but she'd just wrestle me to the ground like a child and I couldn't handle that right now.

"Coffee?" she asks.

"I'm good, thanks." I chew at one of my knuckles. "So Theo stayed over? You guys are okay?" Why do I ask these things? My inner politeness saint is currently being berated by my plentiful demons.

"He flew out so we could spend a day and night together. So sweet. And yeah, we're _more_ than okay . Although... that boy does refuse to let a girl sleep in come morning." She clicks her tongue and winks at me.

My smile is more like a grimace. Probably somewhat ghoulish, but I can't help it. "Please. I don't want to hear about your licentious acts," I joke uncertainly, turning to pull distractedly at the large ring on my right hand. Flipping off my shoes, I step up onto the couch and slump down into a cosy corner. "But it's nice to see you happy," I admit. Lea sits down beside me, nuzzling into my side, nudging my shoulder with her nose. She could have chosen any other seat in the room, but no. She's a touchy-feely girl and, let's face it, I do love her for it.

"I've got nothing to be unhappy about," she mutters into my cardigan sleeve.

"Does Theo really...?" I can't help myself, burgeoning curiosity eating at me. She jabs me in the side and my stomach rolls over. I like it. A lot.

"I get woken by, um, sensations sometimes," she laughs, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "Don't you?" I don't answer. There are some things I don't talk to Lea about, details of my sex life being one, and she knows it. She doesn't push. However, her candidness means I can't not ask these probing questions. The answers give me a shameful joy inside. She continues: "Maybe it's programmed in because of Broadway and theater, late show endings, y'know. You get used to falling asleep as soon as you hit the pillow, then you wake up refreshed and horny, the applause still running hot in your veins. Though, I must say... sometimes I've just ended up dreaming I'm being faux-fingered by Jon and just sleep right through. Drives Theo mad." She chuckles heartily and her eyes sparkle gloriously.

I turn bright red. Her on-stage acts don't faze her like they do me, even though _she_ was the one having it done to her night after night in Spring Awakening. To her it was as meaningless as a kiss given to someone you trust. "I still have no idea how you did that. I mean, didn't it ever... um... y'know...get...?" Her relationship with Jonathan Groff is different to most; she practically tongues his tonsils every time they meet. Worse when drunk. They were definitely married in a past life; not traditional lovers, maybe Bonnie and Clyde. I visualize them both dressed up as such, guns in hand. Groff would have been Bonnie. I smirk unnoticed.

"Pft," she dismisses. "You do know that it wasn't, like, real, right?" She raises an eyebrow again and sweeps hair out of her dark, expressive eyes.

I object to the patronizing tone. "I know he didn't touch you properly, but I still don't get it."

"But you kiss guys on set without getting hot and bothered."

I squirm, the proximity of her making me itchy. "Sure. But they haven't got their hand sliding up towards intimate...places. And on set I'm not having to react... the way you had to react." The only thing that keeps an actor's kiss sacred is the feeling behind it. And I guess the reason I don't understand how she did it is that, in my head, I imagine I'm doing it to her. With a _lot_ of feeling.

"I adore acting and love the challenge of not letting my mind wander. Of not letting the physical take over or become internal. Besides, the audience's shocked and hardened stares are enough to kill any fire in _places_." There's a hint of a snicker in her last words.

"I don't think I could do it." I shake my head. "I'd like to think that I could, for art's sake, but I couldn't. I'd be too afraid of my stage lover accidentally causing... um..."

"It wouldn't happen. Trust me. It's just like when the cameras are on you. You just make rules with your co-stars and work with people you trust." She tilts her head. "I guess if you found the guy unbelievably attractive, whoever it was, that would be a bit weird." She looks at the floor with a pout. "No, you'd be fine. I swear. I'll show you."

Dragging me by the hand, she pulls me to the rug and lays me down on my back. She's strong for 5'2"; I don't get a choice in the matter. I lay rigid with fear. What the... "Sheesh, Lea." Thoughts invade my head of how amazing she must be in bed. Already I feel that my neck is flushed.

"Shush. I'm proving it to you." She leans over me, pressing her stomach to my side. "Just imagine there's an audience over there, some of whom are hilariously mortified, and that you're on a really cold, hard floor. Oh, and that the person kissing you is a giant gay," she grins mischievously. I think my heart stopped. Literally. I can't feel my bones. I may or may not have knees. She's laughing, which isn't unusual. I'm panic stricken. "So, nom nom nom, I kiss you." She doesn't actually kiss me. Just playfully chews on my shoulder. This does actually make me giggle genuinely. I thank her in my head for not just smooching me senseless. "Then, said gay, will lift your dress -" she flaps up the hem of my skirt a little "- and drive his hand up your thigh. No pantie encroachment at all."

The impressions of her fingertips begin above my knee and rise steadily. If it weren't for my tights, she'd be stroking bare skin. I say a silent thank you to mother nature for her hand in today's poor weather. "Are you drunk?" I knit my brows together. I'm in a crazy lady's home. At least she hasn't ripped open my shirt to reveal my breasts.

She giggles at me, her forearm pressing at my hip bone. "Now you pretend to be taken by the throes of lovemaking as I, you know, push back and forth like I'm an innocent, _impassioned_ young boy."

I look at her strangely. She _actually_ wants me to react. She wants me to pretend I've got ripples and jolts of pleasure rolling through me. I can't do that. In truth, the drag of her fingers up and down my leg is making me want to flip her over, kiss her senseless and push my thigh between hers. Because she _is _someone I find attractive. However, I cannot say: 'You've failed to prove your point, because I am thoroughly turned on'. If I did turn her over and start pressing myself against her, she'd wail with laughter. I just know she would. Instead I settle for covering my eyes with my arm and saying: "No way, you dirty bitch." I push her off me and mock laugh. Under the protection of my sleeve, my eyes are free to show emotion. Glazed with hot desire and frantic with pitiful tears. I almost sob. She's chuckling heartily again. To play for time, I ask for her to make me a coffee as I escape to the bathroom.

Part of me wishes I'd never agreed to come here today. The rest of me can never say no.


	2. We Happy Many

**Note:** Thank you so much for the comments, they are _very _much appreciated.

* * *

_"Remember no man is a failure who has friends."_ - Clarence - 'It's A Wonderful Life'

Glancing up, the sky takes my breath away; William Turner has painted the horizon today. My throat catches as a glug of air tries to work its way into my lungs. Morning sunshine blazes through the sparse clouds. I'm feeling good. Incredible actually. Life is fantastic. I'm grateful, oh, so grateful for everything I have. My family, friends and job. So blessed. The wonder of the everything washes over me. The worst of it, the best of it. The grim rubbing shoulders with the beautiful. A cold shower suddenly turned warm.

Naya grabs me roughly from behind, her fingers niggling at my waist and making me squirm. "Hey, girlfriend. Whatcha pondering?"

I inhale and smile. "World stuff."

"You on that kick again?" She grins into my shoulder. "C'mon, showtime."

Begrudgingly, I let her take me by the hand and, like a disgruntled four-year-old, I pout. "Do I have to, Nay? I wanna stay out here."

"Mark!" she yells and he approaches. "Dianna's being bratty and won't come to set," she jokes.

I find myself lifted into the air and swept into Mark's arms; he's carrying me 'Officer and a Gentleman' style and running into the building. Everyone is watching, and I just can't stop laughing. Today's gonna be a good day.

* * *

Kevin is playing 'Beware of the Blob' through his phone. He and Jenna dance to it: she pops her cheek with a finger and he follows suit. Heather is having her hair fixed but is bouncing with the music. The comb gets tangled in her ponytail, but she does it anyway. Matt and Harry are trying to out spin each other and, much to Matt's chagrin, Harry is winning. As I quietly re-check my script, Cory suddenly whispers something wholly unrepeatable in my ear. It makes me jump and then smile widely. He's as gleeful, no pun intended, as a child. Moving on, he does the same to nearly every unwitting person in the room. No rhyme, no reason. He reaches Amber, who nearly jumps out of her skin and chases after him, pulling at his pants and almost causing him to knock himself out on the sound equipment hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes I never want these days to change. We behave badly, but no more than a bunch of playful puppy dogs; biting, scratching, straddling, nuzzling, head-butting, rolling over each other. It feels natural so we do it without thought. Maybe it's actors, or maybe we'd be the same if we all worked for the IRS. I don't know. Our everyday is everyone else's Christmas party. We don't need mistletoe for an excuse to kiss our friends.

These days, I gladly take the rough with the smooth. And here comes Little Miss Rough. And, yes, of course I mean Lea. She's just attacked Chris by smearing wet lady kisses across his neck. He's swiping at her but she won't give up. Eventually he tweaks her nipples through her shirt and bra and she stops, looks aghast, then pulls on his like they're pinball release knobs. He squeals and runs away. Her eyes are bright. No doubt she's been chugging back energy drinks again. Setting herself up for the stream of consciousness tirade that will later fall from Rachel Berry's lips as she prepares to slap the smirk from Quinn's face.

The music has changed to a new London rap artist that Kevin has discovered. He's standing on the seat of Artie's wheelchair and getting down with his bad self. I look down, then when I look back up some time later, Lea has her knee held up to up Chord's waist; no mean feat for a girl of her height. Together they dirty dance. I mean, really dirty dance. They're practically sweating. It looks a little inappropriate because they're in their character clothes. I glance back to my script; my words are staying in my mind but the correct placing isn't. Ugh. Lea is now distracting me once again; she's being given a piggyback across the room by Naya. Crazy. I love how crazy they all are. We are all a little mad here. Some days I like to think that I'm Lea's favorite puppy to play with. Other times I know I'm not.

Suddenly there are hands creeping around my waist causing my abdomen to tense. A hot cheek presses on the back of my neck, and an 'I love you' is whispered into my shoulder. I'm just grateful she's in my life. So totally grateful. This part is the smooth.

* * *

It wasn't always like this. We lived together. It was fine. It wasn't a Boston marriage, just two girls living independently together. Happiness. Long, philosophical talks over wine. Short, silly talks over tea and cake. Weary, work-based talks over breakfast and coffee. Lea was someone I looked to: my go-to-gal; my rock. Twirling me around and catching me when I needed her.

Things change.

Oh, she's still there, still a most wonderful friend. But I started to feel differently, and it got hard. What do you do when you fall for your closest friend? Do you risk telling her? No way. But not to... is like lying. So I do tell her, in my own way. I mention love. We talk of forever. I move on.

Like a magician she allows me to tirelessly pull emotion from her sleeves like knotted handkerchiefs. I need to give her a break. Give myself a break. Lately, I've stood back; it's harder to be close than distant. I still appreciate her hugs. It's easier when we're with other people. Lea has a habit of making you feel like you're the most important person in her life. She'll grab you, catch your gaze with hers and the look she gets in her eye is like she's never seen anything more beautiful. But she does it to us all. If I kid myself that I'm anything special to her, I'd never be able to control this. Alone with her I forget to remember that her affections are indiscriminately applied to everyone she cares about. We happy many.

She's steadily rising up the echelons of stardom. Soon we will lose her into the A-list. Maybe another couple years more. I'll make it last. As a romantic, I enjoy the harsh internal gnaw of unrequited love. I can appreciate the glow of need, without the need for a taste. I feed on my affection and it's enough to keep me going. Perhaps I'll tell her when we're ninety years old. She'll laugh. She'll laugh when I tell her that I've always loved her.

I'm so thankful to have the comfort of friends. I need them more than anything right now.

* * *

_"I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it."_ - Audrey Hepburn

She's practically rubbing my face on her breasts. Again. Lea's cuddles are nothing if not intense. I'm a little bit drunk. We are all fairly trashed, actually. Lea is incredibly drunk and has somehow acquired a stetson. We're in the VIP lounge of some place, the name of which has escaped me. I didn't take much notice, but as long as I'm with my friends, I feel safe. Sparkling lights filter through the darkness like fireflies and music thrums pleasantly through the air. The dinner table is covered in junk and food that we've been throwing at each other. A bread roll hits Heather between the eyes and she makes the most comical face. That girl should have been in silent movies. I once told her this, but she took it as an offensive remark. It wasn't; I meant she was as funny as Buster Keaton; she can kill with just a look. People should know me by now. I'm _so_ not mean. Silly girl. Unless she had intended her retort to be sarcastic. We do that a lot around here and sometimes I forget. I'm not surprised they despair of me.

Anyway. So, yes, I'm wedged against Lea's cleavage. It's not sexual; just coddling. I'm kinda sitting beside her, slumped down on my chair. It's awkward, but warm and she smells delicious. She's talking to Cory. The last time I looked at him his eyes were pointing in different directions (caffeine overdose), so I'm pretty sure the conversation they're having is riveting. I can't hear anyway. Both of my ears are covered, one by her hand, the other by her chest. All I can hear is her heart beating and the rumble of her voice. It's like being driven home when you're a little kid; the steady motion of the wheels lulling you into a safe and gentle sleep, finally to be carried into the house and put immediately to bed. I like that feeling... and this one. Her chest rises with a deep inhalation and my eyes close.

* * *

The cab ride is not restful. Jenna and I jam Lea between us; her arms interlink ours. We're not being chummy, just trying to stop her from climbing into the front to take the wheel. The stetson has disappeared; I think the owner appeared before we left. She's spunky tonight; loud-mouthed and raucous. _In_toxicated, _over_ the limit and _under_ the influence. I've never seen Lea drink so much, and she doesn't hold it well at the best of times. Traditionally, she's the one tending to everyone else. Maybe she didn't eat enough. Silly thing.

This evening she had danced sweetly around the room saying to people: 'Ask not what your Lea can do for you - ask what you can do for your Lea' in her bastardized version of JFK's legendary quote. She had demanded chaste kisses and close hugs. Sometimes I think she can't believe her life. The amazement shines through. There is no reason she doesn't deserve this; deserve those people who would lay their cloaks over puddles for her. Jenna reluctantly gets out of the car at her block and requires many assurances from me that I can deal. Which I can. I can deal.

The journey to Lea's floor is interesting. She has become more sedate and is half koala bear-ing me. I must admit, it's extraordinarily cute. The muzak rings strangely in my ears and I wish I was still dancing. It reminds me of when I used to stand at the back of the elevator in my dad's hotel in San Francisco. I'd take that ride for hours and just watch people. Sometimes I'd press the buttons on their behalf. Servitude suits me. If I look back on those days, I see them time-lapsed: hundreds of people rushing back and forth in a blur as morning turns to night in barely a matter of seconds. I wouldn't change those days, or the person I was. The person I am.

My eyes close as I feel the sudden stomach-lurching rush from floor 5 to 15. It makes me pleasantly woozy. Her fingertips dig into my side and a joy zips through me like a static shock. Naturally, Lea lives in a high rise apartment building. She's a New Yorker and they're not happy unless they're hundreds of yards above the street... or on it. We reach her door and she plants her purse in my hand to retrieve the key. I open up.

"I wanna make something spicy!" she shouts with renewed vigor, flying through as I lock up and attempt to keep Sheila and Claude from escaping as they weave between my legs like a pair of Peter Pan's lost shadows.

"Crapola," I exclaim as I run to pull her away from the stove. Our, oops... I forget myself, _her_ cats are better behaved than she is. "Lea, no!" I fling my arms around her waist and hug her back to my front. Responsibility floods my body, washing away the fuddle of alcohol in my brain. My legs are steady; hers bend loosely at the knee like a marionette's.

"Let's play The Game of Life!" she enthuses as I pull her comically towards the couch, away from all things kitchen-dangerousy.

"You're incredible, you know that?" I shake my head.

"I do." She smiles.

As I sit down, she lands on my lap and the wind is knocked out of me. "Lea?" I whisper due to lack of breath.

Turning so that she is sideways on, she looks at me with wide, curious eyes. Her pupils are dilated. "Yes?" she says under her breath, suddenly pretending our conversation is covert. Eyeing Claude suspiciously, she leans in and, where before she was merely pressing against the boundaries of my personal bubble, she now completely pops it. Her glossed lips fall to a rest against my right temple. It's not a kiss; instead she's keeping her balance, using her mouth as an anchor.

"Get off, sweetie, before I have to push you," I insist with a nudge.

Obediently, she shuffles off me, leaving just her legs resting on my thighs, crossed at the ankle like she's a CEO and I'm her desk. Or perhaps I'm her lackey secretary, since she's now looking at me like she's about to say: 'Ms Agron, take a letter!' I hold her still and gently ease the high heels from her feet. "You're good to me," she mutters, curling her unbound toes, "and one day I will take you for a wife."

Not before she takes Theo, Jon, Chris and maybe some guy from Vampire Diaries for husbands. Even then I'd have to wait for the divorce from Jenna to come through. "Sure you will." I pat her knees, lift her legs out of the way and go to the refrigerator. "Drink this or you'll feel like death tomorrow," I insist.

"Yes, ma'am." She salutes and, watching the level sway, takes the open bottle unsteadily like she's balancing an ostrich egg on a toothpick. The look of concentration is adorable.

I get a bottle for myself and feel like a protective mother as I stare at her feebly sipping the water. "So," I breathe, "epistemological solipsism versus realism... go," I challenge mockingly.

"Huh?" She squints at me to focus.

My eyelids close lazily as I smirk. "I'm only teasing. I'm pretty sure you couldn't differentiate between an apple and a mango right now."

"I can!" She points assertively. "Oranges are orange."

"I said mango, poindexter."

Lea laughs and indicates for me to join her. Kicking my shoes off, I sit down and bring my sore feet onto the couch. Leaning back, I tie a braid in my hair to stop it from falling in my eyes. "Dianna, will you stay here tonight? Please?" she asks, her words much more lucid. "I won't steal the covers," she bargains.

I consider it, worrying at my bottom lip. I've broken my own rule, the one about _not_ being alone with her. She looks at me expectantly, her pupils still dilated but her gaze now steady, strong and dark. It hurts to keep reminding myself that she wants me only as a friend, a companion. I am so drawn, but the lure is false. She doesn't understand why I'm taking so long to reply. One half of me feels overjoyed, like I've just been danced into bed by someone I love. The other part of me remembers the truth.

Lea paints broadly with her affection, never sticking within the borders of the canvas that contains her lover and her family. I feel her hand slip into mine and I swear my heart physically shudders. I want to be drunk again so that I could kiss her and we'd blame the alcohol, the night, the moment. I'm tired of this scratched record, weary of running this loop that constantly glitches just as I reach this very point, only to skip back or jump. She places a kiss on my left cheek, whilst cupping the other in her palm possessively. It's time to lift the needle and stop this sad song before the vinyl is completely ruined. "I'm sorry," I mutter, "I can't."


	3. Art Imitating Life

**Note:** The Glee episode referenced at the end of this part is Uninvited, which can be found on my profile. Thanks again for all your comments. :) I'm so glad everyone is enjoying the angst.

* * *

_"Glaciers have melted to the sea. I wish the tide would take me over. I've been down on my knees and you just keep on getting closer."_ - The XX - 'Crystalised'

I have moved on. I make a point of reminding myself of this fact nearly every day. Empowerment is the key to life-long success and happiness. My new boyfriend, Alex, is lovely, tall and handsome. This is important, trust me. It's good. I'm good. I'm fine. Existence is what I make it, right? Love clings to my heart, coating it like candle wax. There will always be a part devoted to Lea, but I refuse let it burn away by tormenting myself with an infatuation for someone who will never fully reciprocate. I have let that area of wax harden, become shell-like and dormant. A volcano become mountain, no longer tectonic. I acknowledge it, that's all. Do I sound like I'm trying to convince _myself_ of this? Maybe a little. I've self-helped myself to such an extent that I could hold coherent conferences on the matter.

She and I have drifted apart. It has helped seal the wounds. Our circles have become less and less venn-like. I don't think it's fazed her. Actually, she's barely noticed. It's been a month since she asked to share my bed... platonically, of course. Occasionally, she floats by to daub a little affection my way, but that's all. It's amicable. I transfer my attentions to my other friends, especially the Glee boys who keep me sane.

Lately, however, Lea and I have a lot of scenes together, mostly fighting. I swear I'd never get my anger out if it weren't for my character being such a bitch. But I _always _apologize afterwards. Her face crinkles every time I do so, and sometimes she tries to stop me. It's too sweet. She doesn't understand that, under the surface, I'm apologizing for drifting away from her. She can't help what happened inside my head, and it's not her fault that I'm a fool with a rogue heart.

* * *

Standing in line for craft services, I hi-five Lea when we notice that, for the umpteenth time in so many days, we've accidentally ordered the same lunch as each other. Not much of a coincidence given the limited options, but it makes us both smile.

"Wanna come back to my trailer?" she asks hopefully. "We've got some time to kill." I'd like to see the look in her eyes but she's wearing large sunglasses so I can see only a hint of fluttering eyelash and dark iris.

I hold up my plastic container. "I'm gonna go back to mine and chill out, if that's okay."

"Of course. You do what you want, Miss D." She sounds a teeny bit pissed at me.

We've been here before. It's also the umpteenth time I've shot her down in favor of being alone. "Maybe another time?" I wince as I ask.

Her bottom lip quirks strangely, as if there is a vitriolic speech about to pour from her mouth. "Sure." When she walks away, I see a stiffness in her posture. She's snapping her fingers rapidly like she's trying to remember something or, maybe, attempting to forget. She swings around and rubs at her eye underneath her shades. "Have I done something wrong?"

My heart drops. I'd rather she had been angry, but then I should know her better than to expect that from her. "What? No." I skip forward, reaching out but not touching. "You never do anything wrong."

"Then what is it?" She throws her free arm up.

"Nothing," I placate.

"It can't be. I must have done something, Di. You think I haven't noticed how different you've been towards me?" Her frown is deep and her body language is open and demanding.

"It's not like that." My jaw clenches. Over by the fence, I spy a lone paparazzo snapping our exchange. I close my eyes briefly, put my arm around Lea to pull her out of sight. We walk to my trailer. I despair at what they will print. If they caught the ever-so-slightly heated conversation, the headlines about life imitating art would no doubt follow. They love the idea that we hate each other off screen as well as on. However, those articles are easier to stomach than the internet rumors implying that we're engaging in trailer sex twice a day.

I gently push Lea up the steps and slam the door behind us. She, unlike me, never seems to let the media get to her. "Well?" she asks with panicked impatience.

I'd forgotten that we'd been semi-arguing slash engaging in an affinity-orientated catharsis. Turning to face her, I lean back against the trailer wall. "Sorry."

She steps over to me, empties my hands - which I fast pull behind my back - and removes her sunglasses. "Honey, I don't want you to be sorry. I want to know what I can do to help." She frowns with concern. "I want to know how to win back your friendship."

"You haven't lost it." I can't explain myself properly. My expression shows more worry than hers does. I prepare for emotional purging on both sides. This could get messy.

"You barely talk to me. We never spend time together. Not alone anyway." She shakes her head with sorrow.

"We spoke today when -"

"I can't help but miss you, even though I see you nearly every day. What happened to our talks?"

Her words tug something deep in the pit of my stomach. "I miss it too." I miss it more than she does. Of that I am certain. Most of all I miss the laughter.

"Then I must have done something wrong. Did I say something? Is it the scenes we've been doing? I know they've been pretty intense."

Intense. I blink rapidly. "I don't like calling you names." This is true. I'll stick to truths. Sometimes I want to slap Quinn. How dare she be that mean to Rachel? Except... I like the fire that I'm allowed to feel; the aggression I inject into my lines might just as easily be spoken with apathy. Everyone knows that a fight is often two steps away from a frantic embrace. I close my eyes as I admit this to myself. Shouting 'I hate you' is as powerful as whispering 'I love you'. While I still have that outlet, I can't mend.

"It's fine; it's just acting." She looks bemused. "We just hug it out and go back to normal."

Why isn't she laughing? A serious Lea is a dangerous Lea. I knew this time would come. Normal can't come yet; I'm not ready to go back. Going back now means plunging back into turmoil. "I -" There's a knock at the door. It swings open and Cory's cute, hopeful face appears. I'm saved!

"One of these things is not like the other, one of these things is Di!" he sing-songs as he pulls himself up the rail. "Oh! Hola, Lea."

"Later, Cory," Lea demands from behind me. "Please."

He raises a finger in appreciation for her desire. "Be kind, rewind," he says to himself as he reverses down the steps and then walks backwards waving.

Not saved. I sigh. The trailer door shuts and it's just me and her again. I hold my stomach and move to sit cross-legged on the bench-like couch without taking my shoes off. I'm trying not to made a big deal out of this, and so shrug casually. "I'm sorry if you think I've left you out of my life. I don't allocate time for my friends like equal slices from a pie chart." It sounds cutting and I see her cringe.

"I'm sorry for thinking I was special to you," she bites back. Oh hell. Tears have appeared in her eyes.

I feel like I've stamped on a dog's paw. The muscles in my shoulders tense and I find myself unable to swallow properly. "You are." Pinching at the bridge of my nose, I try to continue: "You don't know..." Maybe I should tell her. She's a big girl and she can handle it. Her arms hug tightly to her waist as she looks down on me. "You are _incredibly_ special to me," I say from my pathetic, almost groveling position. I don't want her to pity me or to pat me on the head and say: 'Poor Dianna, so in love with me. It must be so hard for you to be so close, yet know you'll never have me'. Not that she would lord it over me like that, or even word it like that. "I've... I've just been in a weird mood lately." Coward. "A little stressed."

She's giving this some thought. Her frown deepens. "Okay," she breathes, eyelashes fluttering. "I just don't want to lose you from my life." Pressing the heel of her palm to the corner of her eye, she sits down to the left of me and lays a hand over my bent knee. "I can't. Not an option," she adds in an ear-tingling whisper.

"It won't last forever. I'm just doing a lot of processing recently. Sometimes I need to be around people who don't _get_ me the way you do." Tentatively, I rumble my fingertips over the peaks of her knuckles. She flips her hand for me to hold but, instead, I trail backwards and brush my thumb across the tattoo on her inner wrist. It feels beautiful; more so when her pulse jumps under my firm touch. "I feel transparent when I'm with you," I explain.

"That's nothing to be afraid of. You can be vulnerable with me," she says, watching my fingers intently as I cause goosebumps to rise on her forearm.

I feel like crying. "I wish I was like everyone else." The sentence comes out wrong. I mean that I wish I felt the same way that everyone else does about her. Unless they're all head over heels too. It's very possible and, if true, there should be a name for the syndrome she has proliferated around the globe. Familiarity only further fans the flames of this fever. Say that five times and fast. I dare you.

"No. Don't you say that," she chides. "Don't you _ever_ say that." Clearly I've hit a nerve. Making the best of who you are is something of which Lea is staunchly in favor. "Don't you see how wonderful you are? How perfect, unique and captivating?" Reaching across me, she delves her left hand into my loose hair, takes a hold of my head and palms my ear. She makes my heart soar and sore all at once. A breath rasps from my throat. I wish her touch wasn't so invigorating. I blink and a tear slips down my cheek. Her thumb is there ready to catch it. "Oh, Dianna," she soothes.

Our rapprochement is complete. Harmony restored. More than restored. She now knows that I'm topsy-turvy over something. But what? Maybe I should etch another food type onto my no-go list and explain my behavior that way. 'Hey, Lea, I'm weird because I've turned frugivorous and I'm crabby because I miss the no-egg challah bread you bake, hence the avoision'. Hm. No. I'll give up cigarettes and blame the lack of nicotine instead. I look into her eyes. She cares a lot about me, that much is abundantly clear. I'd forgotten how much I miss her eyes.

Every time I sail away, she stows aboard and rocks me despite calm waters. Somehow I must keep this ship on an even keel.

* * *

_"I brace myself, 'cause I know it's going to hurt, but I like to think at least things can't get any worse."_ - Florence and the Machine - 'Hurricane Drunk'

I tug at the scarf looped around my neck; the tassels tangle and intertwine with my fingers. Nerves wrack my body. Formality is not my bag. Not today, anyway. I feel like I'm waiting to audition again, or like I'm sitting outside the Principal's office. I cross and uncross my legs nervously then begin rubbing my hands together vigorously, though, admittedly, not quite Lady MacBeth style. I try a little yoga breathing, but it just makes me want to smoke and, yes, I _am _trying to give up. Closing my eyes I wish myself to another place: a fireside, hillside, my childhood bedroom, anywhere. I feel like I'm about to get my contract revoked. I'm not, but this whole situation reminds me of the feeling you get when you walk past a cop: you can't help but feel guilty. It just happens.

* * *

"We'd really like to take it in this direction: bullying to mask true feelings." Ryan runs his hand over his head and nods. "Hell, I've been there." I don't ask if he was the bully or the victim. "It's just something I'm aching to cover. But I need to know if you're with me. I know you're an open woman, but I felt the need to ask."

"I..." I stumble over my words. "Gee, uh." I've been rendered almost entirely speechless. Narrowing my eyes, I attempt to form a decent sentence. "I haven't been playing it that way. Wouldn't that be an issue?"

"No, I don't think so." He shakes his head and pouts. "Quinn won't have understood her resentment of Rachel; she just would have felt the need to push. Slowly, she's going to realize that she's battling her own sexuality."

"Rachel..." I may as well be wearing a t-shirt that says: 'Blown Away' on it. I am agog. Surely Rachel is the last person Quinn would fall for. Ironic much? I panic. "Surely Chris should be the one to take on something this huge? Or use the Brittany and Santana thing?"

"We're moving Brittany towards Finn: they seem to fit. Santana will get her story, and there will be longing from her side. Kurt knows who he is; the journey wouldn't be as grand for him. But for Quinn... huge. She has no idea how to handle this." He's pointing his pen at my head and I can feel myself go cross-eyed. "Imagine being the least likely girl in school to fall for another girl. That on top of giving away her daughter and the divorce of her parents. Imagine how that would feel. She's biting back that resentment of being different. Stifling her emotions. Lashing out."

I continue to battle. "But... surely you could get one of the jocks to fall for Kurt? Same deal."

He frowns and looks perplexed. Sitting back he crosses his arms and hugs them to his chest. "You're one of the most generous people I know." He shakes his head. I don't want him to call me generous; that's not what this is about. "Who else would try to pass up a storyline in order to give a fellow cast member more screen time? You're amazing." He smiles. I remain mute. "But come on, Dianna. You've said you wanted to understand your character more." I have said that, plenty. "Imagine all the girls out there you could help: the confused and the lost." He's appealing to my better nature; I'm a sucker for that. If he uses the word 'imagine' one more time, I'm going to assume he's trying to pass messages subliminally.

Suddenly it occurs to me that the character of Rachel isn't gay, and that, although Quinn may like her, it will be unrequited. I feel a sharp jolt in my heart. Life imitating art is too true sometimes. I catch a glimpse in my head of where Ryan is taking the story: Quinn commits to her rite of passage; Rachel rejects; Brittany goes off with Finn leaving Santana available for Quinn to fall for. Double prom queen bonus. So, Mr. Ryan Murphy, _this_ I can do. I grin widely. "Okay, let's do it."

* * *

_"Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes."_ - Oscar Wilde

I pull on a large sweater and a pair of baggy, gray slacks that I stole from my brother when he grew out of them. I wear them when I'm missing him, which I am. It's one of the rare occasions you'll find me in pants, save for those times when acting requires it. I pull the new Glee script out of my bag. A nice thick wodge of papers, topped by a single blue cover sheet. Tossing it onto my bed, I flip my iPod into the dock ready to look up any songs we might be singing.

My fingertips glide over the barely detectable swell of inked words. New lines, new story, new laughs. Joy. Plunging in, I don't even try to learn my lines, just absorb the general tone and smile at the funny parts. I can't wait to watch everyone in action. As I read the words, the voices that belong to each of my friends bounce around my head; it's nicely reassuring. Another Rachel solo, nothing new there. I smirk. It seems to be an easy set for me - no scenes with Lea so far - perhaps I can take my mind off the hook this week. Only last week I had to waltz her toward the lockers and shout in her face. It had made me twist inside. Primal.

The first group song has me psyched. I do love those guys. It will be tremendous fun. I read something and frown in case I'm wrong. I'm not wrong. I'm the central figure in an Alice in Wonderland style dream sequence. I could cry. Two of my great loves collide. I can't wait to step into the surreal darkness of that world. I feel so fortunate in my job. My stomach is buzzing with excitement. The writers really do know us ever so well.

Busy fantasizing, I fumble and drop the script. It flops onto the bed before me. The pages have splayed open and a single word catches my eye: kiss. This isn't unusual: it is a show about high school life after all. Problem is, it's a stage direction that involves Quinn and Rachel. I must be confused. Maybe I need glasses. I grab the paper and take a closer look. My eyes aren't betraying me. The paper crinkles in my hands.

I am required to kiss Lea.

Twice.


	4. The Impalement Arts

**Note: **Anyone wanting to read the Faberry side of this chapter... take a look at 'Uninvited'

**Note: **I'm bowled over by the compliments about this story. Thank you. I normally write murder mysteries so this is very different for me. I'm not really into RPFS, but I could not help but write this.

* * *

_Acting deals with very delicate emotions. It is not putting up a mask. Each time an actor acts he does not hide; he exposes himself."_ - Rodney Dangerfield

My cell buzzes and I scramble to grab it. A text from Lea. I can't look and so drop it back onto the desk. Pause. Breathe. My hands fly into my hair. "What am I going to do?" I ask the empty room, still flapping. My eyes dart. I'm screwed. I can't kiss Lea, it's too... it's too... I just can't. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Holding my breath, I read the message through one squinting eye. It reads: 'Hey lover, I see you and I have some action going on! L. xoxo'. Curse words, that don't normally come to mind, flood out of my mouth. I set down the phone so that my eyes don't keep trying to re-read. Calm. Calm. My mind is awash with images that are normally reserved for daydreaming; right now, they haunt me.

The phone vibrates again and flies up into the air when I pounce too enthusiastically. It takes three bouncing catches before I have it steady and can read the new message. Cory: 'Kissing girls makes for the barfy'. It is accompanied by a picture of him pulling a face.

I sit back and grab a pillow to hold against my tense stomach. My internal earthquake is reduced to a mere tremor. What am I frightened of? Lea's clearly not perturbed by this and neither should I be. What's the worst that could happen? She notices that my kiss is a little too sure, or perhaps unsure. So what? She'll presume I'm a good actress, or a poor one. I realize that I haven't even read the rest of the script, and so dive back in. I find that I've been granted a powerful solo, a potentially gut-wrenching song that frightens and thrills me all at once. I exhale slowly and struggle to stop my eyes from skimming down to my lines... and Lea's. I feel like someone is playing my stomach like it's a hurdy gurdy.

I read on. A duet. With Lea. I'm so horribly happy. I don't even know the song. I don't care either. Such an opportunity. Blessed. Blessed. Blessed. I forget myself for a moment, discard my concerns and just remind myself to grab every opportunity with both hands. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Love has made me ungrateful.

Another text flashes up: 'Ha!' Thanks for that, Chris.

* * *

Read through. Check. Group song rehearsal, recording and filming. Check. Solo rehearsal, recording and filming. Check. Duet rehearsal. Check-ish: I practically phoned it in because of nerves, and Lea holding my hand the whole time.

Scenes are flying by like sand through my fingers. Reluctantly, I slide towards the pinched waist of this hour glass. But I'm determined that the final piece will be good. I refuse to let my performance be affected by this. I owe it to my fellow cast and crew.

* * *

"Care to share the smallest bottle of champagne in the world?" Lea looks up at me from the ground as I peer out of my trailer door. She's wearing a conservative outfit; it's Rachel's and it makes her look like a financial consultant with secret BDSM fantasies. Her scene with Cory must be done. The champagne is a quarter bottle, hardly miniature.

"Come on up," I say, like I'm speaking into the intercom of a penthouse suite. She bounds up the steps in her little shiny shoes - the soles of which make the metal clang - and closes the door behind her. "But I'm not sure I should drink -" Before I know it, the cork has been popped with a bang and the liquid is being rushed into a pair of plastic cups. I shrug. One cup. No harm. I'm not entirely sure we're allowed. Hey ho.

She raises her hand abruptly. "I _have_ to confess -"

The swig I'm taking goes down the wrong way. It's a couple of minutes before she's patted the air back into my lungs. By this time my cheeks are warm and I feel extremely silly. I don't know why her words had such an effect. "I'm fine. Sorry. Go on," I cough, unable to look her in the eye.

Her brow knits and she goes to fetch me a bottle of water instead. "It's ridiculous, really. I just wanted to say, well, inform you that I'm hella nervous."

"About?" I think about all the things that might make Lea nervous. I can't find any. It's not that she's infallible, it's that she 'feels the fear and does it anyway'.

"Our kiss," she explains.

"Oh," I say a little too loud. I could swear it echoes around this steel box that I frequently call home. Or is it fiberglass? Anyway. I'm suddenly acutely aware of my lips and the fact that she's looking at them. They automatically contort and twist, my teeth finding the lower. If she's nervous, then what on earth must I be? Preparing for this has been like practising knife-throwing with no knives, no victim and no wheel. There is nothing I can do but envisage the moment of performance, and it doesn't make it any easier. Spontaneous human combustion may happen. Perhaps stifled love is the mystery cause of that most final of maladies.

"So... left or right? I always ask." Her fingers rap the cup in a familiar rhythm; I think it's 'What Should We Do with the Drunken Sailor?'.

"Huh?" I frown, so many thoughts running through my head that I fail to pick out her meaning in the crowd.

"Lean left or right? We don't want to spend our whole time eskimo kissing." She's smirking impishly.

My heart begins to do an unbidden jig. I quite like eskimo kissing. "Um. Left? Whatever you want."

"'Kay, done." She points at me, winks, then takes another small sip.

"Lea?" I'm not sure if this is the right moment to pose the question that has been floating around my head for the past three days.

"Yup." She nods in encouragement. Her eyes are sparkling. Daylight streams through the small window and highlights the line of her jaw and the glossiness of her hair.

I swallow thickly. "Do you know what Ryan has planned for Rachel? I mean... the end of this episode is a little open and so far she hasn't exhibited any signs of being attracted to Quinn."

She sneers, her lip curling. "Yeah, I know, right, 'cause Quinn's, like, mega fugly and ew-some."

"Hey!" I yelp despite knowing she's teasing. It makes me smile. It feels so nice, like a reward. Though what for, I'm not sure.

"Come on. She's _totally_ in love with her." Lea's sarcastic tone has dropped completely.

What? My grin drops. Suddenly I feel like I'm looking at a still from a movie. This moment screencapped forever in my mind. Saved and catalogued under 'Life Changers'. I take in the way her free hand looks as it rests on her hip, her gorgeous smile, and the honesty in her expectant eyes. A gust of wind blows the small drape at my window causing the shadows in the room to flicker and dance. The image before me has become a beautiful tableau vivant. Something inside me finds this moment thrilling and overwhelming. My throat utters the word: "Love?"

"Totally smitten," she continues, breaking her pose to tip back a little more bubbly. "Ryan and I discussed it ages ago. Sure, Rachel's confused and she fights it more than Quinn does, but it's there: ingrained in every hurt look."

She's describing me and I wonder if she knows. Can she see it in my eyes? In the doleful looks I give her? "But they're not gonna end up together, right?" I ask succinctly. Which way do I want this coin to fall? Heads or tails?

"Sure they are. Don't you worry."

What, me worry? Oh, gee whizz. "I don't understand." I'd also forgotten to assign outcomes to the coin. All I know is that, in my mind's eye, Thomas Jefferson is staring at me from the obverse of a shiny nickel. I don't know if I'm entirely happy about that.

"Do you remember that time when you said you were tired of us having so many fighting scenes?"

"I..." Sort of. I remember her eyes that day and the feeling of her fingertips combing through my hair to graze my scalp. I find myself replicating the action without pause for thought.

"Well you did, and so I had a word with the big cheese. He suggested that Rachel and Quinn stop speaking to each other almost completely."

"I see."

"And I suggested they fall in love," she adds.

Golly! My throat is jumping convulsively and I find myself unable to swallow. Uneasy on my feet, I slump back and am glad to find a wall behind me. I feel molecule thin, like the delicate film that lies between the layers of an onion. Perhaps, if I stand very still, I'll become transparent enough to blend in with the background. I try to be casual about it all. Don't mind me, nothing to see here. Move along now, sweetheart.

"I don't want our characters fighting anymore," she adds tenderly. "I don't like how it affects you after."

Tears threaten my eyes. Her sweetness gets me in the gut. It's deep and visceral. I smile widely and genuinely. She stopped the fighting for my sake. I blink rapidly and rub my hands together. I feel like someone has walked over my grave and the shiver makes me pout. So now she wants to be kissing me? It's such a sweet gesture. Nevertheless, I wear my reticence to divulge my feelings like a badge of dishonor. She probably thinks my expression is shock. Whereas mostly, it's disbelief. "I see," I state simply.

She ribs me for my repeated phrase. "We're both big on LGBT rights. We both want to be role models. Portray real struggles. And, besides, who wouldn't want to be kissing the girl who has single-handedly captured the heart of this fair land?"

I nod, pushing my hands into the pockets of my floral skirt. "You sure have, Lea." A little of my pre-teen Texan accent comes through.

"I meant you, dummy." Beaming at me, she sweeps her bangs behind her ears coyly. "Did I do wrong?" she asks self-consciously.

This girl is going to be the death of me. "Never."

* * *

Lea wants it to be real. Not in the way I want it to be real, you understand. She wants it to be like a first kiss. Natural. No rehearsal. Better? Worse? I don't know. All I do know is, apart from a few pick up shots left to do, this is the last scene left to be filmed for this episode. It is also the climax of said episode.

I drum up the Quinn Fabray inside. Narrow my eyes with concern, straighten my Cheerios skirt, say my lines with clarity and lean in. There I stop. I'm not supposed to. Seconds pass.

Brad is directing and speaks up. "When you're ready."

I'm center stage at the big top. Sawdust in the air. About to be blindfolded. Ready to throw my first blade. It's hot here under this spotlight.

Lea almost pouts with expectation; she's suffering from the same facial strain issues as someone waiting for the timer to go on a camera. She gives up waiting. "I can't kiss you. You have to kiss me," she whispers.

Quinn. Rachel. That's all. Fiction. Quinn inches closer and Rachel's lips part a fraction. Quinn is stirred, confused and compelled by the sight. Finally, she captures Rachel's beautiful mouth in a sweet kiss. Short lived. There, done.

Lea and I have kissed like this before. It's nothing new. A hasty goodbye, a tipsy hello, a random gesture of endearment. This one is chaste, pure and kinda cute. I kick myself for my stupid nerves. It's just lips colliding, for goodness' sake. One kiss down and one to go.

"Can we go again?" Lea shouts towards the camera as my eyes go wide. "I think I was too submissive."

Oh, _shoot_.

"Sure, Lea. Dianna, kiss her again." Brad's circling his hand in the air. Several encouraging but serious faces peer out of the darkness at me. I'd like someone in that crowd to pull a funny expression and lighten the mood, but it's just a skeleton crew and the doors are blocked. They don't want any members of press sneaking in and casually snapping our embrace. They also don't want Cory to come bouncing through, inviting giggles galore. Oh well.

One. Two. Three. Go. I close my eyes and swoop down. Lea holds back initially, then pushes, nudging at my lips. My brain has left the building and is now in a cab headed down Melrose Avenue. I can't help myself; I luxuriate in the feeling of her and have forgotten to be Quinn. I claim this kiss as my own. My hands rise to her cheeks and tears almost slip free of my eyes.

"Cut. Girls, we only get an hour slot; you can't use it all. Keep it short and sweet," Brad jokingly scolds. "Go again, ladies. When you're ready."

_Shit_. I pull back. Lea catches my gaze. My stomach is about to follow my brain, which is now crossing the North Pacific en route for Hawaii. I steel myself and wise up. Dropping back into character, I do a perfect take, followed by a double take when I notice Lea's hands have slunk to my hips. That's fine. Absolutely fine. A friendly pelvic grab. I breathe when I realize why she's done it: to keep me at bay. Lea's attempt to give Rachel control over the situation. Phew. Except we've stopped for a moment and she hasn't let go yet. I've gone a little foggy. Hello out there, anyone want to save me?

"Keep rolling."

I'll take that as a no. I blink and recall my line, then listen to Lea. She pulls as my waist band tantalizingly. I've never experienced her looking at me quite like this. Her eyes glaze over with a curious sort of restrained desire. I pounce before she finishes her line, just like I'm supposed to: as per the script. So... another kiss. I'm getting good at this. Effortless. We are mere children in the playground. I might as well be kissing her on the cheek. _But_ that all changes when she slowly she yields to my mouth... just a little, just enough. Then she pushes back a touch and moans _almost_ inaudibly. I doubt the sound mic even picked it up. I _certainly_ did. I find it impossible to imagine how she could possibly not be hearing my heartbeat. It's so freakishly loud.

Remember who you are; remember who you're playing. Remember the pairs of eyes focused on us: the audience of millions who will watch in a month's time. I sober up and...

"Cut."

I'm alone. Lea has run to watch the monitor playback. All done. It's a wrap. I feel overwhelmed and am a little nauseous. The rollercoaster slows to a juddering stop and I get off. Not bad; I didn't kill anyone and I didn't burst into flame. I call that a moderate success.

* * *

_"At last! My arm is complete again!"_ - Sweeney Todd, a razor in his hand

I hold a cigarette comfortably between my lips. The glorious pull and drag. My smoke adds to the mist of the dusky morning. Yes, I know I shouldn't. Oh well. I don't have many vices.

Distraction. That old game. I have so many amazing, beautiful friends, and I like to absorb myself in their worlds. The internet too provides a happy diversion, as do visits to the ocean to clear my mind. The nights are getting colder but the sun still shines in Los Angeles. I occupy my mind with reading scripts, writing scripts, playing the piano, walking the dog, absorbing myself in books, and forcing myself to finish the unfinished. Perhaps I should learn something weird like the ocarina. I've printed out Charles Bukowski's poem 'one thirty-six a.m.' and have pinned it near my desk to remind me that even those people who seem flawless often struggle. Life is about ups and downs.

Tonight we have an event. I considered bailing but then I realized that would be silly. I wouldn't do that to my friends. Since 'the kisses', as I call them in my head, I've been thinking more clearly. I do not push people away. Lea should benefit from my adulation of her. I am not a loser. Tonight will be fun. And besides, when do I ever pass up the chance to wear a gorgeous dress?

* * *

I clutch Lea to my side and nestle my nose in her hair. My fingers cling to her beautiful ball gown's corseted waist. We smile for the wall of cameras. The barrage of flashes is blinding, but it's a case of keep your eyes open or risk looking like a goofball. Walking on, her hand in mine, we stop to be interviewed. Separate cameras. Just the regular us, being how we always are.

I'm greeted with: "Dianna, you're looking fabulous tonight." The redheaded interviewer and I discuss the various designers I'm sporting, before moving onto the success of the show. Then she springs this one on me: "How are you and Alex?"

Hack. "I..." I choose to brush the comment away. "I think it was Marlon Brando who once said: 'If there's anything unsettling to the stomach, it's watching actors on television talk about their personal lives'." I'm cordial whilst wanting to walk away. My cheeks flush. Lea, still engaged in answering her own questions, senses my discomfort and squeezes my hand securely.

"The hot new Glee rumor is that Quinn and Rachel are set to be a couple. Care to comment?" The orange, foam-covered microphone is thrust back towards me.

Standard ingratiating smile. Standard uninformative answer. "You'll have to watch and see."

"So... is the on-screen romance the reason you and Alex have been having difficulties?"

None of your business, Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs F F I, Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs L T Y. Rude. "What?" The word slips out because she's got me riled. We're not even having 'difficulties'. To be truthful, we're not having much of anything.

"So you don't deny the fact?" She looks at me with a sadistic smile. "And do, therefore, agree that your relationship breakdown is due to your current storyline?"

My cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment and rage. If ever I do a Lifetime movie about a court case, I'll remember this feeling. The glassy eye of the camera zooms in a little and I can see my nervous expression in the bulging reflection. A heated reply is loitering in my abdomen and ready to trampoline off my diaphragm. This could be a mistake. Here goes: "I don't know what the -"

"Hi! I'm Lea Michele." Lea appears at my side with a large, static grin on her face. "And this is my dear friend Dianna Agron; y'know like hey-gron minus the h. Like _hey_, Miss Channel _whatever_, you have less tact than the person standing behind you with that sign that says: 'The chick with the microphone is an idiot'." Lea points and the interviewer is naïve enough to turn. "Thank you. Goodnight." Lea drags me off and we make our escape. No more interviews for me tonight.

We step into the venue, away from the television crews. "I can't believe you did that. The media are gonna rip into you, Lea." I can hear the sound bites now. They'll label her a bitch. I visualize YouTube clips appearing en masse, perhaps a remix or two, and probably a mash up with the double rainbow dude or the bed intruder song. Argh. Kinda cool but argh.

"Ah heck, who cares? I'm a New Yorker; I can't _not_ say what I'm thinking. That woman was an ass. I've come across her before. She gives me acid reflux. How dare she talk to you like that... and here of all places?" Lea shakes her head, her long hair rolling beautifully over her shoulders. "I don't care if they label me a bitch."

Can she read my mind?

"As long as I have the love and support of my friends, the press can go jump," she nods with a pout.

"You didn't have to save me," I say as she ushers me into a darkened corner and hands me a fluted glass.

"Oh, you were about to pop. I saw it, and an outburst could be damaging to your career. It's not worth it, Dianna. You're too soulful for that bunch of hyenas and lions. They know how to get under your skin." She rubs at my bare arms. "Just... laugh them off." She smiles widely, showing her perfectly white teeth. Then she tickles me in the ribs and the rest of the Glee 'kids' enter the room and approach to enshroud me. My protective blanket. I'd never be without it.


	5. I Kid Myself

**Note:** The episode Dianna talks about not having read yet is Totally Cyranoed (see my profile page to read)

**To pwrdbyrce:** I try to get into Dianna's style when I write this story, but all this is just a guess at how her mind works. She's a tricky creature to work out. ;)

* * *

_"Great art is about conflict and pain and guilt and longing and love disguised as sex, and sex disguised as love... and let's face it, you got a big head start."_ - Lester Bangs in 'Almost Famous'

I'm cradling the phone against my ear. Feeling very numb. Eyes closed.

"Di?" Alex prompts due to my extended silence. He's over in England visiting family. We've been talking for, oh, about an hour.

"S-sorry. I'm a little shocked. I can't believe..." Actually, I _can_ believe he's breaking up with me. I've been inattentive and distracted. He deserves more.

"I've barely seen you -" he explains "- and I know it's been work and stuff, but I feel like we've not been all that bothered about making the effort, y'know?"

Looking down, I realize I've been drawing random symbols on the back of a magazine and wonder what the subconsciously-etched scrawl represents. A lightning bolt severs a house in two. Hardly a hidden message there, but shouldn't it have been a heart? "I really wanted this to work," I bemoan. I wanted to fall head over heels for the boy. Honestly, I did.

"Yeah, me too and I'm gutted it didn't." There's no anger in his voice. "No one's fault, really."

My fault. I got together with him whilst on the rebound of a relationship that never happened. I should be crying for him to come back but my eyes are dry. He was the Rosaline to my Romeo; I wanted to be in love with him so much that I thought I was. My heart feels like a lump of gum. Invisible ice cubes slide down my throat and settle in my stomach. I slump to sitting. I never wanted to hurt him. "Be my friend?" I sound like a child.

"Course. We still have a movie to promote together, don't we?"

"And after too? Please?" I request earnestly, tapping at my temple.

"Yeah. Definitely. You're a great girl." I hear him change the receiver to his other hand and his watch jangles. "Look, I've got to go. No hard feelings?"

Lost a lover, gained a friend. "No. I understand completely." This is so hideously amicable. I feel like I should end with an 'I love you'. I don't. "Goodbye, Alex." I hate that I feel relieved.

* * *

_"That secret that you know but don't know how to tell: it fucks with your honor and it teases your head."_ - Bon Iver - 'Blood Bank'

The new episode script is still in my bag. The thought of it burns a little hole in the back of my mind. It niggles. I never leave things like that until the last moment, but this time I have. How extremely unstudious of me. Naya, Mark, Cory and Heather have been filming like crazy and my scenes have been put back. Perhaps they heard about the Alex thing. Maybe it was just scheduling. Who knows.

Today I've been reading my fanmail. It's mostly wonderful; some a little creepy, but that's to be expected. My stomach turns and churns as I pick up a letter that has been written in haste and is full of hate for my character. Hard to shrug that away. Even harder to make amends on Quinn's behalf. You can never please everyone. A shiver slips down my spine as I draw a blanket over my knees. I'm not cold; I just feel exposed and vulnerable.

There's one other type of fanmail that makes me uneasy: that being those which tell me how good Lea and I would be together. I expect Lea receives the same, though I've never asked. Oh, there's similar sentiments from people telling me I should be with Mark, Cory, Naya... even Telly of all people, but mostly they're about Lea. People sense things and they cut to the quick unintentionally. How do I reply to that? How could I possibly comment?

Lately, rumors are abound about Rachel and Quinn's storyline despite the fact that no promos have been released. The letters and messages are coming in thick and fast in pre-appreciation for my - correction - Quinn's coming out story. A reminder that I'm doing this for the people out there who need this to happen. They need this on primetime and I'm going to help make it happen. I'm proud of that. And if that means I have to kiss Lea once a week until on-screen graduation and beyond, then I'll do it. I can't not. An annoying part of me likes it and that makes me feel weird. I'm not really kissing Lea; I'm kissing Rachel, and she's eight years my junior. Borderline wrong. Nope. Just plain wrong.

My intercom is buzzing. I wade out from underneath a stack of letters to press the button. I hear Lea muttering to no one in particular: "Let me in. Let me in." In the small vid screen I can see her tapping her hand impatiently on the gate. I press the release, unlatch the front door and return to my mail. She enters, closes the door behind her with a resounding click and almost immediately sinks to the floor. I see that Johnny has rushed out from his bed under the baby grand and has made a leap towards her. He's almost bowled her over. She loves it.

"I've come to help you drown your sorrows," she announces, not looking up from stroking Johnny's ears.

Johnny has sorrows? "Wha..." Oh wait. My break-up. I was such a bad girlfriend that I'd forgotten I wasn't one anymore.

She raises her hands defensively. "And before you ask... Jenna told me. I think Chris told her."

In other words: everyone knows. Lea is probably aching to know why I didn't tell her myself, but she's overcoming the desire to ask because she suspects I might be hurting. I'm not as hurt as much as I feel guilty. Guilty because I kissed her while I was with Alex. I doesn't matter that it was acting because I let it take me over. Let it linger on my mouth. And, at night, I dreamed about it. Alex is better off without me.

"Hey, baby, I've missed you, you gorgeous creature," she cooes. "Give me a kiss."

My heart yoyos. I look up and she's still snuggling Johnny. She was talking to him. Yeah, that does make more sense. Silly, Dianna.

She approaches and sits down. "Tell mama all about it." I feel a light slap to the back of my hand.

"Do I have to?" I frown.

Now I've offended her. "Would you rather I go?" She thinks I don't trust her.

"I didn't mean to sound short," I apologize.

"I can, though. Go, I mean. If you're uncomfortable with me being here. If you don't want my company." Her hand is on her heart and she's speaking with pure candor.

Deep down I _always_ want her company. "Please stay," I request with a deep frown.

She narrows her eyes and looks at me intently. "Was it us?"

There is no us. Is there? "Us?" I ask with curiosity. Dangerous thing, curiosity: it has a habit of killing things.

"The scenes we've filmed, are going to film, and the on screen relationship we're having. Did it cause problems?"

"What? No. No." I'm reminded of the interview with that awful woman last week and pat my left hand with my right, distractedly. "No," I repeat ad nauseum. "Not that. Alex never knew about the storyline, anyway." I didn't hide it. Maybe I did. That's awful. I'm awful. Jerk.

"The distance must have been hard," she prompts.

"All the people I care about are spread across the globe." I sigh and she nods at me; she's in the same situation. "But Alex and I found it okay, just like we make the effort with our families. The journey was always worth it."

"So... did he find someone else?" She's clearly confused because she knows that I think the world of that beautiful man.

"I don't think so... I..." I watch as her body language changes and her pose slides into a reflected version of my own.

Eyes flickering with interest, her hand rises to her mouth and she begins running her fingertips over her bottom lip. "Did _you_ find someone else?" Her open palm is offered towards me.

No one who wants me. "He broke it off with me when, I think, he realized that I... I care about him deeply, but I'm just not in _love_ with him. We'd be better as friends." My eyes close when I feel her hand drift into my hair.

"Come on," she says, suddenly jumping to her feet. She's grabbing my coat and throwing my shoes at my stomach. They bounce to the floor because I've failed to pay attention.

I stand and the sleeves of my coat are briskly dragged onto my arms. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know. We'll just... go somewhere and take your mind off things. It's getting dark, but you look like you could use some air." Resting the back of her hand to my cheek, she examines the pallor of my skin. "Have you been holed up in here all day?" I go to nod but she's already onto her next thought. "We could take a stroll and sit by... actually..." Lea tips her head to one side and muses for a moment, her eyes lazily glancing towards the window. "Yes, I know!" she says, sounding like she's addressing a personal spirit guide. "Right, Dianna, I walked here so we'd need to take your car. Are you good to drive?" I agree and she grins. "Well let's go, then."

* * *

We park up on Lake Hollywood Drive. "You'll find someone new," Lea asserts as she shuts the passenger side of my Mini Cooper. "After all -" she begins to speak dramatically and in a rather Austenesque manner "- a single woman in possession of _outrageous_ beauty is never lacking in offers from suitors." Holding an imaginary dress out to the sides, she curtseys. I automatically bow like a gentleman, one hand behind my back and the other afore me. "You remember that," she mock-chides, jabbing a finger into my side. "Lady will find her tramp." Crazy girl. I laugh and follow her in the walk up Wonder View Drive to the trail ahead. If she asks me to help her break into the secure perimeter around the Hollywood sign, I swear I'll run the other way. Today is not a good day to get arrested. Steadily, we make our ascent using the radio tower atop Mount Lee as our compass. We laugh, giggle and collapse about the place as she chases me along the trail. Lea has such an enlivening effect on a person. My adrenaline is pumping.

This kind of walk makes me fall in love with hiking all over again. I find fall time especially pretty. Fresh, brisk air. Luscious plants striving to bloom on the dry, arid earth. It's stirring. Lea doesn't guide me to the Peak; instead, we take a path to the left and stop at a viewpoint by a large tree. The sun has now almost completely set, even though it's relatively early. The lights of Burbank and Hollywood shine like a giant footprint of glitter, fading into deep blue where land meets sky. From my pocket I pull out a digital camera, then I pace back, crouch down, adjust the shutter speed a little and line up a shot. Lea looks out at the view. Stepping to her right, she inadvertently drifts into the frame of my viewfinder. Her body is silhouetted against the dusky sky, hands on hips, hair lightly caught by a zephyr. Steady. Click.

"Hey! You're worse than the paparazzi." She strides over to bash me playfully on the arm as I stand. "I didn't even know you had that with you."

"I keep one in the glove compartment for emergencies." Click. She wasn't expecting that shot either and chases me, trying to get the camera.

"Give," she chuckles.

"No." I hold it aloft and just out of her reach. "Mine."

Suddenly her arms are around my waist and she's tackling me to the ground. The boys have been teaching her naughty tricks. I lightly scuff my right knee. The make-up team will be mad at me. But then, I've usually got a bruise or two to cover up; I think they're used to my antics by now. "Yoink," Lea yells pre-emptively and, as I sit up, she snatches the camera from my hand. "Mine!" she shouts triumphantly.

Hugging herself to me, she extends her arm to her left and turns the preview screen away from us. I stare into her eyes and our noses almost touch. Her warm breath tickles my lips. Click. I feel the weight of the camera being pressed back into my hand. I wish I was wearing a hat so that I could pull it over my face. Or a large bag would suffice.

It's so peaceful here. The night is almost too romantic for words. Warm, close air cut by a calm, shiver-inducing breeze. Such descriptions could be applied to Lea. She's so near that I can almost taste the scent of her perfume and lotion. If I were Quinn and she were Rachel, I'd kiss those lips and we'd tumble backward to watch for shooting stars. I'm not Quinn. She's not Rachel. We are not high school sweethearts.

My chest feels like it's being sat on by a baby elephant. My breathing is labored. Her eyelashes are fluttering. There should be an inevitable conclusion to this encounter. If she loved me, I would have torn the coats from our shoulders, reached under her hips and lifted her onto the soft heap of fabric. Easing myself down her body, I would have pushed her loose sweater up and tight jeans down. I would have gloried in the feel of her skin against my lips, in the sensations caused by the electric connection of our bodies. I swear I would have made passionate love to her while she contemplated this starry sky. Would have. But she doesn't love me, not like I love her.

Lea and I are now, essentially, having a stare-off: an unwavering gaze so strong that I feel as though she is scrutinizing my soul. It's half delightful and semi-erotic. The back of my head tingles and my stomach tenses with lust. I will her to fall for me, projecting my own cravings and wants directly into her mind and trying to make them her own. Please? With every second that passes, I feel like my unspoken spell is working. I swear that, if a minute passes in silence, her mouth will come crashing against mine.

I kid myself.

"Practising for our next kiss?" she asks with a smirk, her mouth tauntingly close. Her cheeks show the barest shadows of dimple-like creases.

"Wh...?" I raise an eyebrow ever so slightly and look at her dumbstruck. She's talking about work. She must think I'm soft in the head. "I... haven't read the script."

Taken aback, she frowns. "That's not like you, poor thing. So distracted." She trails her fingertips across my forehead. "You'll get through it."

Not with you looking at me like that, I won't. I realize once again that she's referring to the break-up. I lose the contest and let my line of sight dip to the ground. Crepuscular twilight has transformed into moonlight. The cityscape below looks like it's on fire: every street is lined with the burning lava of hundreds of headlamps and street lights. Squirming out of her grasp, I stand and walk to the edge in order to take another picture. Focus. Focus. Click. "It's beautiful." So is she. Two perfect things in one place. This _should_ be perfect. She joins me, the toe of her boot accidentally kicking grit down the slope. I try to remind myself that I'm lucky to have Lea in my life. So valuable. Honesty is key. "It was right for Alex to break us up," I admit.

"Don't say that," she chides. "Negativity does no one any good. It just... wasn't meant to be."

"Maybe." I'm not looking forward to schlepping our way back down to the car. I've tried so hard to be positive, but I just want her to hold me and tell me it's all gonna be okay. Words don't come easily. Nothing fits right. How the hell do I convey to her my emotions and past actions? If this were television, I'd just kiss her. Words start to tumble from my unprepared mouth. "I'm in love with..."

Her lips part in anticipation of the completion of my sentence. "Who?"

You. Come on, Lea, my answer rhymes with what you just said. Hear it. I wait, then I give up. "Someone else."

"Oh my... wow. Who, though?" Pouting, she shakes her head. "I can't think..."

Just realize it, please, Lea. If she doesn't even suspect it, that makes it ten times as hard. I walk away, then lean my back against the rough surface of the tree. Closing my eyes, I visualize her running toward me, flinging herself into my arms, kissing my breath away and whispering sweet-nothings into my ear. When I look, she's just standing where she was before, framed by the glow of the city below. She's almost ethereal in appearance. "It doesn't matter. It's not mutual," I murmur bitterly.

"Who wouldn't want you?" she says softly, finally approaching to hold me by the waist.

"Please, don't." I push her hands away.

"Dianna Agron, you're my best friend. Please trust me -"

"I've never been your best friend, Lea. I come _way_ down that scale. Let's be honest." There I go again, stomping dirt into the clear waters between us.

"That's not true!" she shouts, aghast.

"It _is_ true! You just like to keep me under your wing for when no one else is available." This is the bitterness talking. A little of the Quinn inside rising to the surface. I learned from the worst.

"Why are you talking like this?" Her bottom lip quivers with sadness, but I can see frustrated anger emerging in her eyes.

"Because in your world, I'm an afterthought." In my mind I'm begging her to deny it.

"I love you like I love _all_ my friends," she all but yelps.

No more, no less. No better, no worse. It's all I needed to hear. Fuming, I storm off, only to stop a few yards away. Turning sharply on my heel, I stamp my way back up to her, drag a handful of bills out of my coat pocket and push the money against her stomach for her to take. The bills flutter to the ground. "Don't hurt yourself on the walk down -" I say through a seething breath "- and when you get there, hail a damned cab."

I never could get the hang of an incensed walk out; I just care too much.


	6. Pachyderms Don't Cry

Apologies for the absenteeism. Myself and my partner suffered a great loss and essentially went on compassionate web and work leave. However, I'm back now, much healed and much in need of some positivity in this hard time. I really want to continue writing this story because I have such a great love for it. I hope I haven't lost too many readers. Your comments mean so much to me. I'd like to say a special thanks to bluefire73 whose concern was much appreciated and Gaylien-sparkles who made me smile.

For those who can't remember: last time we left D and L they had an argument and D stormed off into the night leaving L on her own.

xx

* * *

_"Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be." _- Thomas á Kempis

I can't start the car. The key won't turn. It's not broken; I am. Frozen with shock. What happened up there on the hike isn't gonna make any sense to Lea. She's just going to think I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. I'm worried about her: she's all alone and it's extremely dark now. I chew nervously on my bottom lip. Who knows what freaks might be lurking in the shadows to pounce on her. She followed me down, that much I know, but then she went off in the other direction once I stomped my way onto the street. Stupidly, I allowed her to get away and now I'm scared for her.

Sitting back tensely, I reach for my cell. Fumbling ineptly with the touchscreen controls, I manage to select Chris's number. He answers chirpily. "Hey," I mutter uncertainly. "Would you mind calling Lea? Just check she's okay? Please. But don't say I asked you to," I urge with a laugh induced by mild hysteria. He's confused and tries to battle me down to a straight answer. "Just... please? Save me like you always do?" He's a soft little thing. One of my rocks. He's one of hers too. "Just check she's okay. For me." He agrees, but is adamant in wanting to see me. I run my hand through my hair as I contemplate this. "Okay," I utter weakly. I'm shaking.

Secure in the knowledge that Chris will make sure Lea gets home safely, I compose myself and manage to set off. I go the long route. Every red light gives me an excuse to sit back and grip my steering wheel. I visualize Lea getting home and enshrouding herself in blankets as she watches some reality show, only to fall asleep on the couch and be woken when the infomercials come on. It's a comfort. One time it takes the honk of someone's horn before I drive on. If I didn't know that Chris would be waiting for me, I'd drive forever, weaving through the city and watching as the world goes to bed, only to rise again come dawn.

* * *

Parking up, I grab my coat and my camera falls onto the passenger seat. I feel like it did it on purpose, just to taunt me and make me look. With trepidation, I turn it over and switch on the LCD screen. A picture of the cityscape flashes up. I click continuously to scroll through the images. Lea's small, silhouetted figure appears. I try to be happy for whichever guy she chooses to spend her life with. In order to stay grounded, I envisage scenes from her future: her wedding and her thrilled expression as she throws her bouquet; the joy of her children born to a much beloved husband; the looks she will give him as she accepts her awards and thanks him above all others. She will never be mine. Maybe I'll take the photographs. I press the camera controls and the slightly blurry, over-bright picture of the both of us flicks on. She has that look in her eyes; the one that makes you think you're the only other person in the world. My thumb hovers over the delete button. I can't do it. Of course I can't.

When I get to my house, Chris is already there. He steps out of his BMW and waves at me. He looks like a young Rat Packer: all suited, booted; suave, debonair and cucumber cool. "Let's get you inside," he says softly as he ushers me through the doorway. I'm trembling leaf-like so he takes my keys from my hands and locks up once we're inside.

I flop down on the couch and groan. "Ugh," I cry, my arms covering my face as I slide sideways and half lie down on the row of variegated cushions.

"What a fine mess we have here." Chris sits down beside me and reaches under my shoulders to drag me back up into a seated position.

"I know," I murmur. "I'm an idiot."

Before I get the chance to ask, he answers my line of thought. "I picked her up, took her home. And you're _not _an idiot. However, you may select from the following terms: muddle-headed bunny, eccentric pup-"

I squeeze his arm and ask what I've wanted to ask since the minute I saw him. "Was she okay? Did she look okay? Was she crying?"

"She looked fine so I slapped her around a little; pushed her into the mud," he says sardonically. "Y'know, roughed her up good. Knocked her out. Dragged her home."

"Har, har," I intone with a raised eyebrow. His friendship is a blessing.

From his pocket he pulls out and hands over a neat stack of bills. "Yours, I understand." Biting his lip, he tips up my chin. He proceeds to looks at me like he's going to kiss me, which of course he isn't. It's a fascination thing. I'm an unidentifiable insect spied through his magnifying glass. "Yes, she was crying -" he continues "- but I got her into a pair of pajamas and made her some of that dairy-free hot chocolate junk that you girls like. Bundled her up like an inuit baby and left her with the TiVo remote in her hand. She's fine."

"You're such a good man, Chris." My hands are cold and they feel dead. I rub my palms together to bring them back to life.

"A world in which I am neither needed nor trusted is not one I'd care to live in." He smiles crookedly.

"Was she mad at me?" I turn and plant myself against him like a bean bag frog plushie. My arms hang loosely over his shoulders.

"Little confused," he explains as he rubs my back and kisses my cheek. "Sounds like you went up the hill as close friends and came down the mountain as mere acquaintances."

"It was just a little argument." I pull my hand up and indicate the smallness with my finger and thumb; he notices it through the corner of his eye.

"Dianna, you don't get angry with _anyone_." He pushes me back a little to look me in the eye and shakes his head at me like a confused parent. "If someone tipped scalding hot coffee over your head, you'd apologize and go buy them another. Lea thinks she's done something _really _wrong."

"But I do get angry with people." I frown pitifully at him and fall back into a cuddle.

"I know. Sure. But only when you think you need to protect your friends or your honor."

He's right. Of course he's right. "I really feel awful."

"Do you want talk about it? Like Dumbo... I'm all ears."

On hearing the joke, I smile into his neck and a tear dampens his collar. Hold it together, Dianna. "Sorry." I sit back and brush at the stain on his beautifully-laundered, well-pressed shirt. "You're very prettily dressed today."

"I was on a date," he states simply while brushing hair out of my eyes with his thumbs.

"Oh no! Chris, why did you answer your cell?" I slap his arm.

His lips quirk strangely. "To tell you the truth, he turned out to be a little... odd. I was five seconds away from texting my mom to call me for an emergency."

I snuggle back into his side. "I'm a little odd."

"In the best way, honey. Don't you worry about that. Nothing but quirky wonderfulness. No one would have you any different. And you're certainly not let's-talk-about-foreplay-over-the-entrees odd." Chris gently tickles my ribs and rests his chin on top of my head. "Now where's my normally non-stop happy-go-lucky gal? Hm? Nothing in the world gets Di down. That's right, isn't it? Too much wonder and excitement in this merry world of ours."

I nod gently. Except this really _has _got me down, and I really wish it hadn't.

"Words, darling." He sounds like a dance teacher I was tutored by once. The effect is clearly intended. He adds a flourishing gesture with his hand.

"Yes, Mr Colfer."

"You're a strong woman. You love life and everything about it. Good, bad, ugly. Right?" He's not letting up. I really want his words to imbue me with enthusiasm. It's tough. I feel crappy. "Hup," he commands, grabbing the remote for the stereo and flicking on the radio. "Music and dance." He nods knowingly. He's not wrong. They enliven me and always have. Nothing else quite transfers positivity into my soul. Chris spins me and I swivel gloriously on the smooth floor. "Dance for me, woman," he giggles. I bop and sway to the music. Chuck Berry's 'You Never Can Tell' comes on and we have a Pulp Fiction moment. Chris is sliding about in his socks as I drag my fingers across my eyes. We make a convincing pair. I wish our characters could do this on screen but the Kurt-Quinn divide is canyon-esque.

The music turns a little darker and I throw some Thom Yorke inspired shapes. Chris does his best to imitate me. He's a very cute pupil, but I can't really teach this kind of rhythm-led, instinct-based dancing. He looks like he's having a mild yet enjoyable seizure. I take charge and twirl him. He almost falls over and slides as smoothly as a hockey puck towards the bookcase. Breathlessly, we laugh, hands on knees as the next song begins. "Paramore," he says, nodding with approval and scooting back over to me. He holds his arms in a typical waltz pose, and I walk into it gracefully and primly. Chin up. Frame strong. I close my eyes for a moment as we move. Step. One. Two. Three. Two. Two. Three. It feels natural and right. Second nature. I smile widely as he tips me back, then swings me around. This song introduction is beautiful and I get ready to sing along.

All too quickly I realize this is not Hayley's original that the station is playing. My heart sinks into my stomach. Immediately, I pull back and stop. A flood of tears breaks free as my knees dip and I drop to the floor, dragging Chris down with me. This is Lea's voice and her version of the song. Oh, cruel coincidence. I should have known. I really should have known. Every word feels like a knock at my heart. Too beautiful. Too much. Each note strums at my heaving chest. I'm reminded of how much of a bitch I was to her tonight. So guilty. Chris kneels beside me and holds me as I shake. He goes to turn off the stereo but I tug back his arm. As with the woman herself, the absence is just as hard as the presence. Steadily, my crying burbles down to small sobs and Chris lifts my chin to look directly into my eyes. I feel like an ass. He reads me like a book, literally: his eyes scan from left to right in a loop. I frown deeply. Pathetic excuse for a woman.

"Honey," he purrs softly. "It's okay. I... I think I understand." There's a beautifully sombrous quality to his voice.

I wish he genuinely did understand. I hadn't thought my shoulders could sag any more, but they do anyway.

"Lea said you're in love with someone new." He nods almost imperceptibly.

"Chris... I..."

His face is ablaze with realization. "You're in love with her, aren't you? You're in love with Lea!"

I weep again, but with relief and an accompanying smile. He doesn't need words this time around: he knows the answer is a yes.

* * *

"I'm so sorry. That was a completely ridiculous reaction," I laugh half-heartedly into a tissue and think about how daytime soapy I must seem. "I'm an emotional freak these days." My eyes are red and puffy. I clench my teeth together and suck air sharply. We're slumped on the floor like a discarded tin soldier and a ragdoll. I am a mess. I needed that cry; it had been a long time coming. A lull of music still plays in the background.

"You don't have to apologize, angelcakes. This is huge, like finding-you've-grown-an-additional-limb-overnight huge." Chris slips his arm around my back and hugs me to his side.

I can't help but laugh at his analogy. "Mm," I agree with amused enthusiasm. "A very large and superfluous limb that is impeding my work and affecting my sleeping patterns."

"And how long have you been saddled with this giant appendage? Actually -" Chris mutters through a stifled giggle "- dismiss that question because it sounds horrendous." His fingertips drum up and down on my upper arm as if he's playing the piano. He's frowning with bemusement. I knead at his chest like a kitten and he bats at my hand because, clearly, it tickles. "I'll ask it differently. When did you fall for Lea?"

I'm put slightly off kilter by the direct question, having never been able to speak to anyone about this before. It's new. It's nice. It's very surreal and almost entirely exciting. "I... It's been, like, forever." My line of sight strays around the room as I try to recall the moment, the day, the genesis, or even the basic reason. The bridge between friendly affection and pure adoration is unclear. Catalyst unknown. From adore to amore (corny, I know) in just over a year. Note to self: the space of time mentioned is gauged roughly based on readings from my internal love barometer, which should not be trusted under any circumstances: I could just as easily have loved her from the moment that we met. "The end of season one... ish. I think. I don't know. It's a little blurry. Gradual." I wonder if I'm dreaming. I feel nervously elated. I am unburdened by my secret. The gray baby cloud of doom has floated away. "At least... gradual until it hit me like a freight train and turned me into the loony that you see before you today."

He exhales softly and hugs me a little tighter. "And she doesn't know?"

"No, because then she'd distance herself and wouldn't let me hug or touch her. I don't think I could bear that."

He draws back and his eyes widen with shock. "What in the name of JC Penney would make you think she'd react like that? She's not gonna think you're a rapist, Di!"

I puff my cheeks out and glower at him. "I know that!" I smile somewhat sheepishly. "I just don't want it to be weird. That's all. I don't want her to taste the bittersweet in all this."

"She wouldn't."

"You can't know that, Chris. No one can."

He exhales softly and his perfectly-shaved jaw tenses. Sweeping his hands through his hair, he looks at me with intent concentration like he's trying to heal me with energy waves. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I start to actually wonder if he has super powers. "How in the hell have you been coping with smooching her face off?" he blurts.

"Oh, it's a cakewalk," I say sarcastically. "Total breeze."

"And it's only going to get more heavy." He taps my knee rapidly and purses his lips. "Oh! Is this why you weren't at read through and rehearsals?" he adds suddenly.

"No, no. I had to go to do some shots and interviews for 'Four'. I wasn't avoiding. However, I _have _avoided reading the new script. I'm not in it that much, am I?"

He laughs and coughs at the same time. "Um. Well you've got a busy week coming up. And, um..." He exhales for a long time.

"Yes?" I nod encouragingly.

"Very long filming scene. Fireworks. Romantic gestures. Hug. Big kiss."

My open and expectant mouth snaps shut. I'd forgotten Lea mentioned another kiss. I hadn't thought they'd focus on us again quite so soon. "Right," I say under my breath. "How... big?"

"Let's just say it's heavily mutual this time."

Well that will make a change from last time. The onus will be on us both. "It's fine. I'm coping."

"Is that why you're clutching that lighter in your hand like a stress ball? Where did you find that anyway? You didn't have it a moment ago. Do you do magic tricks now?" He raises an eyebrow at me, then, after a moment he blurts: "Oh my god! Did you tell Alex about Lea? Is that why you broke up?" He covers his mouth with his hand. "Oh damn, I forgot to mention I knew about you and Alex. I'd been practising my shocked face."

"It would have been wasted; Lea said you knew. And no, Alex didn't know about my feelings for Lea. About Lea. He and I just... drifted apart. Hard to have a proper relationship with someone when you've got someone else at the back of your mind 24-7."

"I never liked Alex. He has a little too much face for his head," Chris says through grimacing lips.

I'm struck agog and almost choke. "Chris!" I almost exclaim 'Kurt!' because the comment is so bitchy. "He's a nice guy; don't be evil about him."

"I'm joking. I'm joking." He holds his hand up in defense then chuckles and continues with: "I'm not joking." He dives out of the way before I can pretend-pinch him. "You should be with Lea," he states without a hint of mocking.

I inhale deeply and cross my arms over my chest. "Don't say that." I shake my head and tip it back. "_Please _don't say things like that." Even that one comment, denoting a ghost of a chance, makes my soul sing. I wish it wouldn't do that.

"You should be."

"Cut it out, Chris." I gesticulate wildly to iterate my point. "It's not funny."

"Well, why not?"

"A billion and one reasons." I shake my head and my hair flies around my face.

"Name four," he challenges as he leaps to his feet and skips into the kitchen, past a hopeful-looking Johnny. "I'm listening," he projects down the hall.

"Uh," I call out to him, though I've no idea why I felt the need to shout a filler term. "Our taste in music doesn't line up entirely." It's a little feeble as an excuse but I feel that it has its relevance.

"Is that the best you can do? I'd date the world's greatest heavy-metal fan if he had a nice butt. Besides, I'm sure there's a DJ out there who could remix some Barbra with something from your alternative-experimental-raw-rock-jazz-soulful-pop-electronica, sometimes-billboarding, occasionally mind-melting, yet curious and sometimes _wonderful _playlist to form a listenable hit."

"Thank you for that intriguing run down on my style, CC." I bring my knees up to my chest and pull my gray patterned sweater over them; my shoes peek out. I must look like an amoeba. "Reason two..."

"Wait a minute. Hold that phone and rewind for a moment." I can hear glasses clanking. "Did I just get the impression from you that you're not a _huge _Streisand fan?" A cork is yanked from the neck of a bottle.

"Not dislike. You know that I like most things. I'm just not... as in love with her as Lea is."

"Would you buy a CD of Lea singing songs by the aforementioned legend?" he asks, shuffling back into the room with a glass of wine in each hand.

No question. "Yes."

"Your argument is therefore invalid," Chris sing-songs confidently. I'm sure I've heard that phrase somewhere. "Next!" he demands.

That imaginary Lifetime movie I was thinking about the other week? Chris is now playing the lawyer. "Um. She's a huge Broadway groupie. Me, not quite so much." Every time I say these sorts of things, I feel guilty. I consider myself eclectic in taste, but sometimes I wish I could just love everything. A preference universal. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

"Hey, any spare tickets to see a show and I'm there. You don't need to fill that role. Anyway, who wants _all _the same interests as their partner? That line of thinking leads to matching fanny packs. Eugh. But yet again, if Lea was starring in -"

"Yes, yes. I get your point. Fine." I twirl the glass stem between my fingers and stare at the burgundy-colored contents swirling dangerously close to the rim. Lea and I share so many interests: watching movies in the dark, visiting art galleries, photography, cooking, laughing until it hurts, eerie silences, animals, overly tight embraces, nature, singing, self-development, art nouveau architecture, life in general, acting crazy and childish, and, I don't know... walking barefoot on grass. But... "Theo. He's good for her, he loves her and she loves him," I concede out loud.

"Sure, sure," Chris says with a nod. "He's a decent guy... nice voice and his Freddy Krueger impression has me in stitches. But he's no saint; he's overly coarse sometimes and he's had his fair share of ass-glancing other women when our girl isn't looking."

I can't comment on that, being equally as guilty. On the behind thing, not the coarse thing; I have coveted Lea's ass on a sinful number of occasions. Plus, I doubt their relationship is entirely strict when it comes to affection for others, within reason.

"And I do _not_ like it when he calls me Pussywillow; I mean, what the hell is that anyway?" Chris cringes as he recalls the term of derision. "It doesn't even have a basis. Besides, Theo isn't the elephant in the room." He smirks slyly. "Your love for Lea _is_. Theo is completely irrelephant."

A small snicker turns into an unavoidable chuckle as I smack my hand over my eyes. "Don't make me laugh over something so serious." I am forced to bite the inside of my cheek.

"Laughing leaves less mess than tears. I'm not much for tidying." He pours me a little more wine, even though I haven't touched any yet.

"Be that as it may. There's no way I'd want to get in the way of Lea and Theo's relationship." I say that, then I consider how far I would have let tonight go had Lea shown any inclination. Would I really have let her have an affair with me? Sure, it's romantic and all that jazz, but it's not right. The thought makes me feel very cold inside and I physically shiver. There is no doubt that I would have let her commit all sorts of infidelity. Sucking on my bottom lip, I press my wine glass to my chin. If this were a movie, her boyfriend would be ineffectual or abusive. I'd be able to save her from him. Real life doesn't give us easy answers. Chris puts his arm around my shoulder and tousles my hair. I hear the tap of claws on the polished floor and feel Johnny slump down to my right. I cuddle the furry, charcoal-colored mass of him and sigh.

"Let's get married, Dianna," Chris suggests. "We'd have the most delightfully dysfunctional family. Adopt a baby girl and call her Fuschia Savannah Agron Colfer. And an iguana called... Percival. Let's face it, I look great in a tux and you'd _probably _scrub up okay in dress." He smirks. "Could be a regular modern day Rock Hudson and Phyliss Gates affair."

He makes me laugh. He's right: earlier I needed to cry and now I need to laugh. "Yes, let's." We toast the notion and I finally take a sip. "I love you, Chris."

He gives me a peck on the mouth with an additional 'mwah' sound. I'm comforted. "I love you too but let's not have awkward, drunken sex until the wedding night," he jokes. "Right. Reason four, please. _Unless _you can't think of one."

My cheeks already feel flushed, partly due to alcohol. I lick my lips and stare at the dormant fireplace. What I consider to be the largest hurdle is at the forefront of my mind. And don't think me anti-gay, or anti-feminist when I say this - it's just an observation - but had I been a man, matters might have been different. I'd have set Lea in my sights long before Theo had the chance; snuck in and blazed a trail of romantic gestures. I'd be in his place. Chris is right, given those circumstances, I'd have disregarded my first two objections. What do those things really matter? I'll be overturning them tomorrow when I start to think about how many musicians we both favor and how many musicals I love. And no one wants to marry their clone, do they? Nevertheless, I believe that, had I been born a man, she'd be mine. I pause for thought, laugh and shake my head. Wow, boy-me sounds entirely complacent and overly self-confident. Who is to say she'd even find me attractive as a man? Who am I kidding? I'd probably be gay. I let out a protracted breath, lean back and smile wryly at the ceiling. The most poignant statement in this argument for the against comes to mind: "Lea has never shown the slightest interest in being in a same-sex relationship. E_v_er."

Chris narrows his eyes and pouts while he ponders this conundrum. "Aha!" he says finally, pointing to the skies like a true showman. "_Apart_ from when she asked Ryan to write _her_ character into a relationship with _your _character." He looks at me like a spy would look at a document that reads 'Top Secret'. His eyebrows are raised. "Your argument -"

"Is invalid?" I exhale, sitting up primly and extending my legs. As my knees drop, my sweater pings back against my stomach. Johnny moves and rests his head on my lap. "I'm not so sure, Chris." How I wish it really _were_ that simple.


	7. A Little Karma

**Note:** Thank you for all your comments. I'm very touched. :)

* * *

_"And when they pulled her from the wreck, you know, she still had on her shades." _- Tom Waits - 'Burma Shave'

Do you happen to know that moment when you're holding a sharp knife and, with no time to spare, you sense a sneeze about to take ahold of your body? If your answer is a yes, perhaps you will also be familiar with the subsequent post-sternutation gratitude that you experience when you find you haven't sliced off any digits. For those that don't, please resist sourcing a blade and a pot of pepper for my sake; it's not worth it. Anyway, I'm feeling both of those things right now, simultaneously, and my mind is too addled with confusion to create a more cogent paradigm. The other night was, essentially, the sneeze itself: that dark moment when my heart took control of my mind and caused my smiling, glass mask of self-protection to shatter. Lea had been caught in the fallout. Words, like shards, had hurled their way out of my mouth and I'm now the friend who failed her. I should have the word 'fool' emblazoned on my forehead to indicate my shortcomings. Sure, of course, it could have been worse; I could have blamed her for my feverish and in-love condition. I'm so glad I didn't, but it doesn't lessen the gnawing fear. Not even a little. Compunction doesn't cover it.

This is the first time we've spoken since that night, the opportunity having not arisen before, at least not face to face. I had chosen to give her space and that meant no phone calls. But then she wasn't available for final rehearsal and we missed each other in makeup. I could have sworn that I repeatedly saw her disappear around corners. The whole morning has been like a scene from some horrendously trite romantic comedy, but without any trace of romance or humor. How strangely droll. Perhaps this is more like events from the movie 'The Edge of Heaven'. Then again, no, because this isn't a situation where I _wouldn't _expect to find Lea; it's a situation where I expect to _always_ find Lea. Oh dear, I've been sidetracked into a nonsense ramble; excuse me for that. It's irrelephant (ha) anyway because I _have _found her and so that previous babble is essentially pointless. And... back to the sneezesations. Roll, please.

Lea is wearing a short black dress, cloudy lemonade tights and a bright yellow cardigan. The latter has miniature bumblebee emblems trimming the hem. I'm cheerleadered to the nines, including trademark Cheerio jacket (I'll be needing that warmth in just a few minutes' time). Lea and I are finally talking now, but it's not with our own voices. You guessed it: we're filming. It's a rushed day and we're halfway through an out of sequence scene by the lockers. So far Lea hasn't shown any signs of anger towards me. Rachel, however, is not at all happy with Quinn.

"What is it? A crude drawing?" Her hands fly into the air. "A coupon for a taster session at Marty's dairy funhouse and burger emporium?" she bellows at me in Rachel Berry's hurried tone. "I'll pass, thank you."

According to the script, Quinn is overwhelmed by the false accusation of the prior misdeed committed by Azimio and has become speechless. Letting my eyes become frantic with emotion, I begin to turn the 'like' letter Quinn has written to Rachel in my hands. I'm now aware of its contents having _finally _read the script.

Naya saunters towards us and sidles up beside me. I'm not quite sure how she's managing to swagger so gracefully in the giant dog-shaped mascot suit they've slipped her into, but she's managing to work those furry hips tremendously well. She nods her head towards the graffiti on Rachel's locker. "I knew this crush over baby Snuffleupagus here wouldn't last. It might be the one thing that makes me happy today," she says, looking down her nose at Lea with disgust.

I look to Lea whose expression is equally disdainful. "Wait," she says, raising her hand abruptly. "You're the one calling _me_ a hairy animal with a big nose?" Folding her arms, she pouts and looks Naya up and down. Lea gave Ryan a very precious thing when she allowed him to create a character so close to her own personality; one who shares the same vulnerabilities she had in her youth. To her credit, she takes these re-imagined insults and jibes and stands tall. She's overcome the rejections of her past and therefore gives Rachel that precious glint of hope in her eye. I begin to wonder what sort of a girl the writers would have created had Quinn been modeled on my personality. A daydreamer? A clutz? A library nerd? A secretly needy person? Oh, well, I believe Quinn _is _that.

Naya's rebuttal is as follows: "Hey, at the end of the day, I can take this off. You can't." Her delivery is beautifully cutting. Naya's not a mean person, but then none of us are.

Thinking too much, I almost miss my line. "Santana," I hiss.

"Okay, great, guys," Elodie's voice stops us in our tracks. She's sat in her director's chair with her arm raised. The crew swarm about her like bees around their queen. "Cut there. Remember your marks, please. Just give us a minute to get set up, girls."

"Pee time!" Lea runs off through the crowd. I'm not sure if she's avoiding me or if she's just extremely nervous. Of course, she may have just had one too many doses of coffee or Smartwater or whichever new beverage she's currently hooked on.

"I wish I had that option," Naya says, looking forlornly toward the distant bathrooms whilst unsuccessfully attempting to scratch her back using an over-sized paw. There seems to be an irony in her inability to do so, since the paw has equally over-large, plastic claws. "Could you give me a hand?" I oblige and give her shoulders a good, hard rub. "This thing -" she holds up her chunky arms "- itches like crazy. I'm actually looking forward to getting this done so I can get it off."

"Well, despite what Quinn will say later, I think you look super cute." I nod to enhance the sincerity of my comment.

"Why, thank you, ma'am," Naya drawls. "And you're right; I am an immensely hot bitch, right now." When she laughs, the nose of the propped open dog's head bobs and the tongue flaps lazily to one side. "C'mon, we have to limber up in preparation for the big moment." She repeatedly punches the air in front of her. Laughing, I mirror her Rocky-style training moves. Anything to get our minds off our combined fate.

Lea returns and carefully steps back onto the X taped to the floor. She's frowning. "I'm so, so sorry," she apologizes to us both. "Honestly. So sorry, my girlies. You know how much I hate this." There follows a short exchange of unnecessary placations and assuages of peace from all sides before we drop back into character. Both Lea and I seem to be mostly concerned for Naya.

Elodie has finished speaking to the crew. "Okay, lets try for one take to avoid the need for clean-ups. You know it's what I want and I _know _it's what you want. Extras go, please." She twirls her hand in the air like a member of the British monarchy waving at a cheering crowd. "And... shoot."

My heart is in my mouth. I'm trying not to tense up, but I can't avoid it. Breathe. I try to watch with curiosity as Lea approaches two familiar hallway dwellers and grabs their cups. I swallow and try not to blink too much. There's one camera trained on Lea's movements, and another one opposite me waiting to close in on the action. I feel like Lea's moving in slow motion to draw out my punishment. That's what I feel this is, by the way: punitive justice for my insufferably selfish outburst. A little karma? I don't know. Maybe. Except this scene was written long before I hurt our friendship. I hope it will make her feel better. Two cups. Two victims. And I'm one of them. That's quite some scowl on her face. 5... 4... 3... 2...

Gah. Ouch! The crushed ice hits me like a punch to the nose. And, trust me, I literally know what that feels like. I try to breathe and end up spluttering through the liquid streaming down my face. My eyes and sinuses sting like crazy. Between blinks, I see Naya looking equally slushied. I can't hear Lea say her line, but I do see her storm away. Scooping ice from my shoulders indignantly, I glare at Naya. Line. "What did you have to say that for? Look at us. Rachel's never going to talk to me now." I scrunch the letter up and force it into my jacket pocket.

The upper part of the mascot's head falls down. Not scripted. Oops. I can just see Naya's eyes peering through the gap. I hear a slightly panicked groan but she continues like a trouper. "I have slushie pooling in the bottoms of my dog legs," she says, minorly muffled. "I'm officially dead inside. My life is over," she complains.

No one is yelling cut so I've got to continue. I feel absolutely mean for what I'm about to do. But, at the same time, the situation is kinda hilarious. Perhaps more so because of the goof. I grab a furry ear and pull upwards, widening the jaw-like opening so I can see Naya's face properly. Cringeworthy pun coming up: "Well I hope your current situation really gives you paws for thought." An extra slides alongside me and I wrench the cup from her hand. I feel a camera slide around me and zoom in on Naya for a close up. I almost stop, but to do so would mean she'd have to suffer it again later anyway. Slam dunk. Naya coughs and I have to push down my guilt. I may have deserved this, but she certainly didn't. "And, just so you know -" I sneer "- you look like frickin' Gizmo, except half as cute and twice as dumb."

Our director's succinct order cuts through the silence. "Cut. Thank you. Go get cleaned up. We'll check back with you later to see if we need more action shots. You did really great, girls."

Phew. The tension is released. I wrap my arms around Naya and try to squash my arms through her costume so she can feel the strength of my hug. Gently, she rubs my back and I'm finding it hard not to cry. My eyes are still stinging. After a while, she's led off to be extracted from her suit by a member of the crew. It's okay: she's laughing.

Lea appears. "A word?" she asks, handing me a towel.

Gulp. No time like the present.

* * *

"Get to it. I can still talk to you." Lea's instructive tone is tempered with a softness. She guides me into one of the studio's bathrooms that has showers. They're mainly there for the crew but when needs must... The door closes behind us and Lea goes to find a seat. We're on a tight schedule and I'm due back in make-up pretty much, well, now actually. "Go on, honey," she says with a sweet sadness like she's ushering her first born through the school gates for the first time.

I am slightly disconcerted by the situation, not least because I wanted to talk to her face to face. I do, however, need to get washed up or I'll be stained coral pink indefinitely. She called me honey, though; that's got to be a good sign, right? "Okay," I concede uncertainly as I tuck myself behind the safe shelter of an obscuring wall. Tentatively, I strip off the damp cheerleading outfit and hang it up to dry. I know she can't see me, but I still feel (and am) extremely naked and so try to cover myself with my arms as I switch on the water. With a shiver, I jump in. The vapor provides a much needed additional veil for my nudity. Pulling across the plastic-covered screen, I relax a fraction and try to comb water clumsily through the clumpy haystack mess that is my hair. Without warning, I hear the muffled sound of speech and then the main door opening and swinging shut. Maybe I misunderstood what she meant earlier. A moderate repose. Sigh. Relax.

I look down. It's just me and the water. Something is missing. What is it? Darn, damn and crap! In my haste I've forgotten to bring anything in with me: no body wash and not even a drop of shampoo. I'm flash-backing to all those horrible moments in life when you can't find your wallet in your purse, miss the last train or spill red wine down an on-loan designer dress. I feel very alone in this cubicle. Dorkbrain Dianna. But then... like the hand of God doling out aid through the clouds, a wash bag of essentials is slipped past the opaque curtain. I grab for it. I hadn't even heard Lea return. Saint! "You read my mind," I say excitedly with a truly grateful smile as water burbles down my face.

"Wish I always could," she says under her breath. It's not said bitterly, but there is a distinct edge to her words. Something inside of me drops sharply, like the jerk that pulls at your torso when you miss a step in your sleep.

"I'm so sorry." I really am. I rest my forehead on the white tiled wall and close my eyes. "You were so wonderful to me and I just threw it back in your face. It was such a special thing you did and I screwed it up." I turn around and rest my back on the cold surface. Unpleasant shivers run down my spine while comforting warm water runs over my stomach and down my legs. I wish I weren't in here. I just want to give her a hug, properly apologize and pray we can move on. "I promise you that it won't happen again."

"No. Don't promise me that. Just don't, you hear? You're always saying how important being true to yourself is. So please, don't promise to hide those feelings and don't promise to lie to me. Truly? I'm glad you felt able to express your emotions. I... I've never seen you like that before. It was oddly, y'know, kinda refreshing." She clucks her tongue. With cupped hands, I shelter my ears from the water so that I can hear a little better. "Little scary, I'll admit." I hear her exhale. "I won't pretend I wasn't hurt when you just walked away from me like that." There's a wobble in her voice.

I need to get out of here. But I also need to not look like I've fallen through Matisse's 'The Red Studio'. Rapidly, I pull open the waterproof bag and the luscious smell hits me. If I use even a few bottles from this veritable cornucopia of bathroom products, I'm going to think Lea is standing beside me all day. It's a pleasant thought. Maybe by slumber tonight will be calm; lulled to sleep by the cradling, clean and soporific scent. Except I imagine I'll dream that she and I share a life and bed, then wake only to be greeted with a cool pillow for a companion. With haste I begin to lather my hair. "I don't like not being able to see you so I'll be out in just a moment."

I imagine she's shrugging half-heartedly. "It's just like being on a call."

Yes, but I'm not usually naked when I'm on the phone to her. What am I thinking? I am _never _naked when I'm on the phone to Lea. I can feel my marbles rolling away one by one, clacking off each other as they go tumbling down the broken spiral staircase that was my fragile sanity.

"I was really, really worried about you, D." I hear her struggle with her words and a protracted silence follows. "I chased you down the track, but you're faster than me with those long legs of yours. And... and I saw that you got to your car okay, but I figured you probably needed time alone."

I was mean to her and yet she made _my _well-being a priority. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath and, despite the softness with which the word was uttered, it seems to echo around the room. My body seizes up. The sound of the shower rings constant in my ears. I can't tell if I'm crying, but I do know that I am thoroughly disappointed in myself.

"Are you okay in there?" she asks, her voice aquiver with worry. "Sweetie, do you need me to come get you out?" I hear the dry slap of her soft soled shoe as she steps forward.

The last thing I need is for her to emerge past the screen and become accidentally doused in the process. That wouldn't be the Breakfast at Tiffany's moment I'd longed for, no matter how beautiful she'd look with fully drenched clothes, droplets catching on her eyelashes and wetness shimmering across her lips. "I..." I blink and become hazy with contemplation. Steadily, my vision unglazes itself and I reply in a panicked tone: "I'm coming out." The double meaning hits me. Maybe I should. But that means analyzing my sexuality and I don't want to label myself so readily. Not ready for that! I pounce into action and wash up fast.

In my head, despite the lack of audible movement, I'm sure she's going to whip back the curtain. Clearly I imagine the simple blink of her eyes could have some extraordinary butterfly effect. Why not? Everything else she's done to date has had a ripple effect on my emotions and physical being, no matter the distance. My heart is already tugging and joggling as if caught in a gale-swept spider's web. Chaos theory is always in action. Should Lea drop a stone into a New York lake, I would fall over in Paris. I'm pretty sure that actually happened once. Turning off the water, I stand there and drip like a gargoyle post-storm. A large white towel is thrust through and I take hold of it. "Thank you." Shuddering, I swiftly pat myself down and wrap it around my body. It doesn't help. Nerves are making me shiver more than cold air on wet skin. I draw back the curtain and inch out like an agoraphobic contemplating the approach towards an exit. I stand ready for her retribution. Shall I be saved?

"You haven't done a very good job; you're still a little pinkish." Lea casts me a pitying smile and immediately wraps her arms around my toweled back. Pushing up onto her toes a little, she leans in and rubs her cheek against mine. I feel her smile drop. "I know we've drifted apart," she whispers into my ear. "I'm sorry for that... you know, I, uh, I don't know what to say, really. I'm sorry I haven't made you feel important. I'm very much here for you." She steps out of the embrace and turns to face away from me. Patiently, she waits. I realize, eventually, that she's looking the other way so that I can change with a modicum of privacy. I scan around and find that she's put my bag on the side. I can't speak; I can barely think. As I tug out a pair of sweat pants, a baseball t-shirt, a set of underwear and sneakers, she continues her line of thought. "I just... I thought we were better than that," she tells the wall as I swiftly moisturize. "I thought you knew me better than to think you couldn't trust me, or... or to assume that you're just somebody I keep in a dusty drawer like an old blanket."

I'm drawn back to the night in question as I begin to dress. I can't believe I said what I said. "I didn't mean it."

"You must have done. You must have felt that way or you wouldn't have said it."

Jealousy. That's what this comes down to. Stupid jealousy. I have no right to stake a claim on the top spot of her friendship billboard 100. "I'm truly embarrassed about how I behaved," I say as I finish dressing. "It was hideous. I'm so upset with myself." Sitting down heavily on a bench, I pull on the shoes, then start to fix my hair into a messy ponytail. Inhaling shakily, I continue: "You can't understand how sorry I feel. Please forgive me, Lea, please," I beg relentlessly and without shame. Turning towards me, she sinks to her knees and I feel my right foot lurch forward. I look down. She's tying my laces. "You don't have to do that -" I protest "- I can just tuck them in until I get to the wardrobe department."

"I'm _not _having you trip over your own feet. You're prone enough to that as it is. Five steps or five miles, I don't care." She glares with mock sternness. "You'll have properly laced shoes and like it, lady!"

How could I not like that? I love that! A toothy cheshire cat grin appears briefly on my lips before I return to the humbling. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? Public apology? Self humiliation? Bake you a cake a week for a year?" All of the above?

Her is expression is serious but I can sense a hidden smirk. "Well, since you insist so nicely, there is one thing." Looking up at me, she sits back on the soles of her shoes and grasps my ankles tightly. She wants me to pay attention. For some reason, I have this image of her hands snaking up my legs towards my waist, after which she would jump up and straddle my hips. This, of course, will not be happening. That's reserved for the heaven-scented dream I'll be forced to endure tonight.

Her hands suddenly rise to my thighs. Nurse? Assistance? I appear to be suffering from pulmonary jellification. I swallow. Hard. "Anything. Uh. Absolutely anything. I'd do anything." I scratch at my eyebrow to distract from the blush in my cheeks that hasn't been caused by food dye. With a firm farewell squeeze, Lea lets go and stands up. I can still feel her hand prints on my flesh, aching for a repeat press.

"Well good. It's a date. I'll let you know when and where. And this time... no running away, you hear?"

Loud and clear, Miss Lea, loud and clear.


	8. An Unfortunate Slight

**Note:**To those of you who say they stuck with/tried reading this story despite not being RPFS fans: thank you! I do like to try and be the exception to the rule. I'm not even an RP girl myself as I worry about being intrusive, but this story just kept writing itself in my head so I had to share. I'm feeling somewhat mojoless at present so please suffer along with me and I'll get back on track.

* * *

_"Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English." _- Lewis Carroll - 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'

"Chickens," Lea says with complete confidence, like she has no idea why the utterance should be at all peculiar. Her eyes glisten with excitement.

"Chickens?" I ask with more than a little incredulity. Pulling my purse further onto my shoulder, I try to support an umbrella against the November rainfall. I'm providing shelter for us both so she's snuggled against me out of necessity.

"Sure! You can't argue with a few chickens, Mrs Oddpets." I'm not sure the aptronym is entirely accurate since I haven't managed to acquire any unusual pets yet but, overall, she's right. She jabs a finger into my side and my abdomen shudders with giddy pleasure. "So yeah. Y'know... the ones that are past laying age and that no one wants? Well I want them. Just a little brood. And compost."

"Compost?" I squint with confusion. When Lea had approached me earlier today and informed me that we'd be going for a drive at lunch, I had no idea we'd end up here... talking about hens and compost. Nor did I understand that all she wanted was company on a visit to a nicely-proportioned, well-dressed house with a For Sale sign planted in front. I thought we'd be going for coffee and interrogation about the _mystery _person I'm in love with. More fool me.

"Yeah, compost. I wanna make compost." She beams at me and hugs her dark olive-green sweater around her securely. I feel her knuckles pinch at my waist as she leans in. My eyelashes flutter involuntarily. Hearing a tinkle, I look around for a windchime until I realize that she's got her keys looped over her finger and they're jangling audibly when she shivers. My shoulders can't help but sink as I contemplate the sweetness of her.

Looking around the back yard, I can visualize her self-sufficiency attempts: a vegetable plot here; a wooden coop there. I totally get what she wants and have the strong desire to buy her a pair of green gumboots when the sale goes through. Providing she does buy, that is. "And you want my opinion on chickens?" I ask, reaching out and lazily tugging on a low hanging tree branch whilst wondering how long it will be before she's looking for land to start a pony sanctuary. The look of clear love she gives the house makes me want to live there too. That infectious personality at work again. I smile crookedly.

"I'm getting the chickens regardless. I'll have to get a good wire fence because of the cats and I'll want _everyone _to bring their dogs to this yard." Pleasant images of warm spring days spent running around this lawn fill my mind. She chuckles and I wonder what she would say if I just kissed her. Out of the blue. On the mouth. Grazing my teeth over her delicious bottom lip, we'd fall against the tree and... "I brought you here because I want your opinion on the house. Should I buy it?"

Goodness. Pressure. Shielding my eyes from the whitish sun, I turn to let my line of sight arc across the rooftop. "You're asking me?" I'm not sure I can give the best advice given that I neglected to anticipate her ever wanting to buy a house instead of a high rise apartment. I seemed to have forgotten that she's not just a New York City girl; she's a New Jersey girl too. The part of her that calls Tenafly her home adores this kind of living.

"Yes, you. You have your own house, which you know I adore. And you know what I like. Plus... you also won't let me do anything stupid. _Please _don't let me do anything stupid." Her hands lay on my forearm and her knees bend in supplication. The umbrella wobbles sideways and my shoes are dashed with rain. I look down at my now damp and mottled ballet flats, and wonder if anyone has ever managed to successfully bottle the smell of rain.

I hold my hand to my jaw shyly when she curls around me and swallows me up with those glorious, deep brown eyes. "I wouldn't let you do anything stupid," I insist. "I promise. But am I really the right person?" I'm stunned and extremely happy about this.

"Absolutely. I want your good judgment, positive attitude and for you to suffer just a teeny bit of the burden of responsibility because I'm too scared to do it all on my own." I go to reply but she pre-empts. "I know, I know. I'm a big girl and it's not that different to buying a car... just bigger and more housey... and I should do all the paperwork on my own. But it would be amazing if you could spot me on this because you know how I fall in love, go crazy and jump in feet first without looking."

I've never seen that as a negative quality. "Of course I'll help you, but you _do _know I've only ever rented?"

"No way!" she exclaims softly, lightly pressing her fist to a puffed out cheek. "I could have sworn you owned. My mistake. I _really _need to start separating reality from what Perez Hilton writes. Still help me though, right?" Nervously, she bites at the side of her bottom lip. Her giddiness makes me delightfully dizzy.

I'd do anything to compensate for my prior indiscretion. "It would be an honor." And I couldn't say no to that impishly lovely face.

* * *

Jeepers. The real estate agent's perfume could double as an anesthetic for sick baby animals. "Ladies! How's the lookie-loo going?" she shouts despite us being gathered in the same room. "Still feeling good about the property, I hope. Have you seen the utilities?" she showcases. "Aren't they simply the _best_?" Now I have Tina Turner stomping around in my head.

She rambles on about the overall airiness, lightness and supreme location before moving on to discuss the bedrooms. I tense slightly in anticipation of a misunderstanding where she presumes Lea and I are a couple, but it doesn't happen. Logically, I guess that the rule is 'friends until proven lovers'. I sound like I want her to make the mistake, don't I? It would be interesting to see how quickly Lea would jump to object. They're talking now. I'm keeping back and slipping upstairs unnoticed. House viewings are like little insights into other people's lives. I love it. I feel delightfully naughty, like I've just stolen an apple from a private orchard. Or that time when Jay and I convinced our next door neighbor, who was many years our junior, that our bunny Epona was in fact an evil-doing witch diurnally trapped in a one-eyed rabbit's body. I miss being a kid.

Staring at a photograph on the wall, I wonder why the family currently in residence is making the move to a new home. Another kid on the way? A divorce? New job? Who knows. The house is warm, tidy, fresh, inviting, and doesn't feel like a broken home. It has great potential for beauty and comfort and I can't wait to see Lea make her mark on it. Her cushions, her linens, her cats, her... self. I drift through to the bedroom and lie on top of the comforter. Losing myself for a moment, I meditate trance-like and stare at the ceiling.

Alone, Lea wanders through and opens up a walk-in closet for perusal. She's quietly humming to herself. I listen and zone in. After a minute, I recognize it as 'Uninvited' by Alanis Morrisette. The song from the episode it was named after. I've always thought it was a shame they cut it to save time; it said so much about Rachel and how she felt flattered yet violated by her then 'secret' admirer. It would have helped the viewers examine how Rachel felt after Quinn pulled the rug from beneath her feet by stealing a kiss in the darkness. Lea had even gone to the music studios to record it. A beautiful hit stuck in limbo, probably on some computer somewhere or a CD on a dusty, forgotten shelf. Another unspendable penny in the wishing well.

"C'mon, PYT. What you doing on there? This isn't sleepy time." Brightly, she smiles down on me and offers her hand for me to pull up. I grab hold, but - much to her surprise - I yank her down beside me and she does a nose-dive onto the kingsize, planting her face onto a pillow. A yelping laugh pops loudly from her throat. I stifle a mischievous giggle and bring my finger up to my lips to shush her. "She's in her car on her cell," Lea dismisses as she flips onto her back and we lie side by side, both staring at a pretty, but generic wall-mounted print of a seascape. I drift a little. It's 2012. Summer. Our Glee contracts have ended. Lea's just got the scripts through for her new role in Grey's. I'm readying myself for a directing project. We're contemplating changing the colour of the walls in this, our, bedroom.

"That has got to go." Lea sneers at the picture, cruelly interrupting my mundane fantasy.

"Oh, it's okay." I suck on my bottom lip. "But, chances are, it'll be taken anyway."

She frowns at me. "Who by? Looters? Don't be letting looters into my house before I move in, Dianna."

I giggle and point towards the photographs on the mantel. It's as plain as day; why does she not see?

"The fake families who came with the picture frames? Uh, sure, maybe." She smiles at my innocence and titters.

Wow, my judgment is shot. A house dressed as a home for sale... I hadn't bet on that. "Silly me." Perhaps I romanticize other people's lives too much. "Um. What does Theo think?" I ask timidly, twiddling my thumbs on my lap.

"About the house? He wants whatever I want. It's my money. What do you think about long cream drapes at that window?"

"So you're not buying it together?" If they actually moved in together, I believe I'd feel better. Theo needs to transform from a glass sliding door into a strong hardwood one. I'm too often forgetting that Lea even has a boyfriend.

"Nope," she says outright as she turns onto her side to face me, resting her fist under her chin and blinking lazily. Gorgeous. Tracing the fingers of her free hand along the valleys in the bed covers, she pouts and looks intensely contemplative. She looks me up and down intently. I wish she'd fall asleep so that I could just stare at her in a _mildly _stalkerish way. She starts to hum again. Same song. I close my eyes. Maybe it's an unconscious message, letting me know that my fascination with her is confusing.

The atmosphere changes. I sense she is about to speak and so catch her gaze with mine. She's going to ask me that dreaded question. I know she is. My spidey sense is tingling. Or maybe that buzz in my stomach is more related to the absence of - how can I put this? - sex. There you go, I can be blunt. I ready myself for her impending interrogation. I'll tell her that I was drunk on the night air and that I'm not really in love with anyone. I'll say I was confused and feeling turbulent. That I wanted to fall for a new person. If I could ever look her in the eye and tell her a flat out lie, I'd say I was in love with Chris. But I can't lie to her.

Maybe I'm ready. Maybe I should say it aloud to her. Say it like it means nothing and she'll dismiss it as cute. Say it like 'imma in wub wiv oo' so that it's gone and she'll look at me like I'm half nutcase half fruitloop. Lose the Elise; my new middle name is Nutloop. A large part of me would like her to strongly pin me to the bed, stop my uneasy limbs from moving by pressing me down with hers, crave my submission before wetly whispering into my ear: 'Who the hell have you fallen in love with?' so that I might have little choice but to cry 'You!' through a restrained choke.

Here she goes. Lea clears her throat. "Do you think Rachel should give her virginity to Quinn?"

Silence falls like a heavy weight through a wet paper bag. I replay the question in my head and analyse the prosody of her words. I find my teeth drawing across my bottom lip as I repeat the word 'virginity' without sound. The air has been sucked sharply from the room and I feel like every breath takes a minute to get through. I blink rapidly and swallow with difficulty. Did she actually say what I think she said? Is she truly asking me, in (well, on) a bed no less, if our characters should get down and dirty with one another? Is this a test of some sort? I pull at my ear lobe and cough away the sudden dryness. I literally have no answers. But I have to say something. "They haven't even had a date yet." My abdomen is uncomfortable with tense heat. I imagine my strong pulse is visible to the eye, like the piston movement of a loudspeaker diaphragm being bounced by a heavy beat.

"You know Glee-time, though, it runs superfast. They'll have us singing 'Come What May' in the rain before you know it. I just think it would be really important for the show." She's blatantly hopeful. "Maybe around prom time?" Is she asking my permission? What does she want me to do? Pre-order a crate of rose petals?

"I thought you agreed with having Rachel wait until the age of consent?" Perfect. I'll get her to reassess her proposal that way.

"I do. Absolutely." She nods softly against the pillow. "Age of consent in Ohio is 16." Foiled! She's been thinking about this. "And it's not just about age, it's about feeling right. I think Quinn could be a great passion for her, providing their relationship is dealt with delicately."

A great passion for her? It's so strange to imagine that Lea has connected our characters that way. Stripped them bare and encouraged them into bed. Not only that, but she believes it could be beautiful. I can see it in her eyes. I push myself out of my head for a moment. Deep breath. Polish up the looking-glass; I'm going through. Looking back on us both from my projected self, I realize that she's right. "You're right," I admit. See... this is me trying to say what I truly think. Dianna minus the Lea-based fog. "It _is _important. The network's boundaries need to be pushed and someone has to proclaim that two in-love girls making love is absolutely normal and wonderful." There's no way I would normally have been able to say those words whilst in my own shoes. Well not here anyway, and not to her. I'm proud of myself.

"Right!" She sits bolt upright excitedly. "Exactly. I'll suggest it to the writers."

I've done it again, haven't I? "Uh, Lea." She's already whipped out her phone. "Are you contacting them now?"

She doesn't look away from the screen as her thumbs move frantically. "No. I'm tweetering at my gee-orgeous twamily. Or should I say _glee_orgeous? There, done. Send."

"Well as long as you're not putting ' alittlelamb and I are in bed discussing the sex life of our characters'." I laugh genuinely, propping myself up on my elbows.

She looks at me blankly. "You think I should have phrased it differently?"

Oh, hell. That's it, I'm not checking my mentions for at least an hour. Actually, make that a whole day. Week. Year. Delete my account. Flee LA and settle in a tree-based dwelling somewhere along the banks of the Congo River.

She collapses into laughter. "I'm not dumb you know. I don't do spoilers." She shows me the phone. It reads: 'Awesome day despite the rain. alittlelamb is holding my hand through the purchase of a house!'

The Congo may be on hold, but I'm still not going to check my mentions.

* * *

_"I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done."_- Lucille Ball

I have the firm belief that being in love with someone is a lot like grieving. People assure 'time heals'. I don't think it's quite as simple as the fading of a memory or the washing away of a bitter hurt. You'll never stop missing someone you've lost; instead, you eventually give up feeling sorry for yourself. I need Lea in my life and I believe she needs me. I'm never going to stop missing what we never had, but I sure as hell hope that one day I stop feeling sorry for myself over not having her. These puppy dog eyes are getting tired.

"Do you suppose that birds look down on us and wonder why we choose to walk?" I ask as I lean back against the windshield of her car and squint at the skyline. Lea is perched on the driver's side, her left knee drawn up. "Do they stand up there on those ridge poles and telephone cables, and call for us to join them? Then jeer at us when we ignore them?" Yeah, I know, my brain is a little topsy-turvy compared to most people. Just go with it. I don't have an awful lot of time for people who look down on me for being quirky. Well, actually I do, but that's because I believe everyone needs a chance.

"Absolutely. That one over there just called you a jerk. Hey you." She looks past me and shouts at a random feathered friend with little regard for her soon-to-be neighbors. "Yeah, you... the one with the face." Screwing one eye shut tight, she points like a pirate. "Stop calling my friend a jerk. She can walk if she _damn _well wants to."

I let out a belly laugh and scoot across to her side of the hood to bump her hip with mine. Rolling over, I grab her shoulders, clamber over her thigh and grapple for a hug. Can you tell I'm feeling playful today? Let's call it playful anyway, because if I call it anything else I really _will _have to label myself a stalker. Let's use my relief at not having been spurned as a friend as the excuse for my exuberance. Across the street, I see a drape twitch. I don't care what they think. As long as they're not TMZ, of course. I feel lucky that Lea and I are close. So close that this kind of action is not frowned upon, and is, instead, entirely reciprocated.

The heels of Lea's boots desperately struggle to grip against the well-waxed paintwork as we laugh and attempt not to slide off the car. Her rock climbing skills come in handy as she strains to hold me from falling off this imaginary precipice. My life in her hands. I trust her. If we fall, we fall together. I know that she'd never let go of me. A harsh wind is blowing my hair about. We might just as easily be several miles high in the sky. I wouldn't know the difference. I'd feel just as safe. I'm merely borrowing her cradling arms for just a while. My loose embrace says: 'I trust you implicitly'. If I were head over heels for anyone else, Lea would definitely be in the know. I feel so bad that I have to keep this a secret. Her breath tickles my cheek as she giggles insanely.

My jacket and shirt have ridden up and I can feel air on my back. All at once, two sets of fingertips and palms lightly graze my skin. The world around me disappears, but I'm alone in this feeling. The silver lining I'd carefully pinned around this cloudy day starts to pull away and fray; one by one, thumb tacks slide free of that sunlit ribbon as her hand slips up my spine. This is far too close for comfort. Mistake. A sob works its way up my throat as my stomach rolls over with arousal. I try to cover it. I sound like someone who is laughing whilst being punched in the gut. Ironically, that's exactly what it feels like. Looking deep into Lea's eyes, my weight full on her chest, I can't help but say those words that are forever floating around my head. "I love you." I'm allowed to tell her sometimes, aren't I? She needs to be reminded as much as I do. The 'am', 'in' and 'with' aren't important right now.

The weak purchase she had suddenly breaks. With girlish screams we gently slump down the slope of the car and end up in a heap on the wet road, still cuddling of course, and still laughing more than is (presumably) normal. Bonafide, genuine laughter. My chest swells with happiness, my eyes close and my shoulders blades shrug towards each other. Lea bumps the tip of her nose against mine. My cheeks begin to ache from smiling.

"I love you too, so much, but I now need to move because I seem to have a wiper blade under my ass." She nods and winces. Oh dear. We untangle our limbs and stand up to brush ourselves down. Lea stares at the (now useless) stick of plastic in her hand. Biting her lip and looking naughty, she can't help but be amused by herself. "This is getting embarrassing. Did you know my local auto repair shop now has _me _on speed dial?"

* * *

Adrenaline is pumping and my stomach is tied in tight knots. "Oh God. Oh God!" I exclaim. "You're insane. Unfun rollercoaster, Lea, unfun!" Actually, this is semi-thrilling, but I don't feel able to encourage her. My smile flickers between joyful and fearful. After this I may need a quiet room, tea, candles and a puppy to cuddle.

"I'm going at, like, fifteen miles per hour. If I go any slower, I'll get pulled over for obstructing traffic," she complains. No, she's going thirty miles per hour and she's going to get pulled over for having a non-functioning wiper blade anyway. Lea wafts her hand in my direction and I grab it and plant it back on the wheel. "Stop being so dramatic," she bemoans. "I'm fine. We're ten minutes from the studio and there's no way I'm turning up late for filming." Torrential rain is pouring down the windshield. My side is being swept clear. A river slides down hers. Lea is leaning sidewards while still struggling to keep her foot on the gas. "I'm not stopping," she pouts. I wouldn't normally worry, but the last time Lea was distracted whilst driving, she ended up with a cab rammed into her rear end. All because her iPod fell off the dash when she had careened speedily around a corner. Don't get me wrong, she's a great driver. Very confident. A little fast. "So come on, then," she says with a glint in her eye. "Tell me now that I've got you cornered." She gives the gas a little extra nudge as we drift past the lights before they turn red. I can almost hear a generic evil laugh echo around her head.

Oh no. Not here. Not now. "Huh?"

There's a devilish twitch in her cheeks. "Give it up, Lady Di." She grins. "Tell me about this new love."

"Narp." Did I just say narp? What is narp?

"Narp?" she snickers. "Nice name. French?" I stare at her side profile agog. I should have prepared better for this. Invisible hands tighten around my neck. Okay. Ready? Yes. No. Forget this; I'm nowhere near ready. Her smile drops and she looks over at me. "Dianna, it's fine." She frowns with concern. "What's wrong? You're as white as a sheet." She eases off the gas and reaches across to hold my hand. Yet again I move her hand back onto the wheel.

"Keep your eyes on the road, sweetie," I say softly with a forced grin. She takes this as a challenge. The gas pedal is depressed with sudden force and I'm sharply pulled back into my seat. Lift off. Chyort voz'mi, as my antecedents would say.

"Tell me," she urges.

"This isn't a movie, Lea. You don't get people to 'fess up information by driving them to the edge of their fear."

"What are you so afraid of?" she asks, her fingers splayed. I wince at her tenuous grip on the steering wheel.

"Crashing." This isn't happening. I can't decide whether it's better to be wide-eyed or go into this blind.

"The other thing! Stop avoiding." We career around a sharp corner. Where are all the traffic cops when you need them? "It's not fair that you're keeping it from me for no good reason. Unless there _is _a good reason. In which case, tell me that!" I think she left skidmarks on the tarmac. Thank goodness it's a quiet road. This is sickeningly exciting. Literally... I may throw up.

I've no choice here. Admission is the only thing I can do to get her to slow down. Damn her. "Fine. Fine! It's... I'm..." I stumble. I'm getting really frustrated with my own inability to say these words. So scared. What if she feels the same? This could be the best day of my life. I try to suppress the rising elation. My heart is so swollen that my lungs don't have space against my ribcage.

She laughs gleefully and I feel the car speed up a little more. "Come _on_!" she commands.

I've slid off the precipice and am free falling through the clouds, suspended on buffers of air with no parachute. No Lea to hold onto. This car is a mere speck in the distance. Damn. Drat. I'm light-headed and full to bursting with nerves. Terrified and absolutely electrified to the core. Simply galvanized by the idea that she might be thrilled by what I'm about to say. Everything hangs in the balance. She's got me pinned. Even my shadow is having palpitations. Can I do it? Fuck it. "_You_, Lea, it's _you _I'm in love with." I'm having a heart attack. "Now slow down before you get us both killed." Is that the blinding white light of an afterlife I see? I clutch at my chest and grab hold of the door. Is that laughing I hear? Is God watching Jay Leno?

"Oh, you are so bad, Ms Agron," Lea says fruitily. "You're _so _gonna pay later for that one, you bad girl." She's shaking her head at me like I've just pranked her.

Tears form in my eyes and my throat jumps sporadically with restrained emotion. I shouldn't be, but I actually feel crushed. Kiss her, embrace her, even tell her. Always, she is blind to my love. The sun has now come out and it's just become the most beautiful day. We cruise down the street. She's still smiling and shaking her head. As soon as we reach the studios she'll be regaling cast and crew of my apparently diversionary antics. Only Chris will understand. She reaches over to grab her iPod and cable. "Let me?" I ask. She rubs the back of my hand and then squeezes my fingers. It's all I can do not to crumple and cry. I keep strong, keep proud. Wide smile.

"Choose something you like, honey," she says.

So I choose 'Uninvited' by Lea Michele.


	9. Glutton For Punishment

**Note:** I realised I haven't yet thanked my partner, Bonnie, whose burden it is to correct my poor grammar. Love you more than socks!  
**Note:** Please gather around so that I might be able to ease the seasick feeling in your tummies after we all had half a day of the real Dianna playing around with her Kinsey scale like it were an abacus.  
**Note:** This chapter was twice as long but I've split it into two, so next chapter won't be long coming.

* * *

_"Have you ever had two people look at you with complete lust and devotion, through the same pair of eyes?" - _Maxine Lund - 'Being John Malkovich'

Spending time with Lea is like being tickled in the ribs. There's the initial exhilaration, the subsequent elation, and then, despite the thrill, the final awkwardness and gnawing ache to be left _alone_. Too nice, too much. The coat she was wearing earlier is now around _my_ shoulders. The gesture wasn't originally in the script, but she ad-libbed it when I couldn't stop shivering. It's past three in the morning. The floodlights are bright but provide no warmth. I'm tired and mentally worn from keeping my emotions parceled up and tied with a neat little bow. Lea and I are sitting facing each other on the top tier of the football field's bleachers. Big day. I'm leaning _so _far back that I may as well be lying down. She is supporting me, her strong arms are around my back and her chest is pressed firmly against mine. Her heady scent fills my lungs as I inhale before sighing. Quinn's line. "Is this my payback?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. I've been in this recumbent position so long that my stomach and thighs are shaking from the strain. I'm at the point of sheer desperation. I need this to happen as much as Quinn does. Seal my aching wounds with your embrace, Lea. Make me forget that you ever laughed in my face when I told you how I felt. Strip the bitterness from my mouth. Revive me and help me to forget.

The white noise of silence rings in my ears as I prepare for the soft bass track of her movement and the orchestral beauty of her kiss. I'm caught in a music box, back bent unnaturally as I patiently wait for the lid to be lifted so that I might pirouette in a sinister fashion to a familiar song. She expands her chest with a deep breath and I feel her breasts push against mine. Her hands don't let me pull away. She stifles me and I feel helpless. I love it. Honestly. _Truly_. I am a glutton for this punishment. "Perhaps, perhaps not," she says softly. There's a undeniable want in her eyes. If I didn't know better, she'd have me fooled again. I'd believe Lea craves this as much as Rachel does, and that both those women wants to kiss the life from me and my counterpart. She's just too good an actress. Heartbreakingly good. My eyelashes try to flutter, but I am unable to blink for fear of missing a revelation in her gaze. I find myself frowning. I wish I could unsay what I had said in her car. Restore my ignorance. Why did it have to happen like that? Why is the concept of my being in love with her hilarious? So hilarious in fact that it is deemed to be a _literal _impossibility, and I'm now tarnished with the inglorious label of trickster: a title which I can't even deny because it would mean sitting her down and explaining that she had misunderstood me. Oh, too cruel fate, you have spun me into a persona that simply does not fit.

In a flash, a sudden beat, her full lips are on mine and I am consumed by her hot, eager mouth. My eyes close. Like a fire, she swarms around me and raises my body temperature. I am engulfed. In order not to sink into euphoria, I am forced to concentrate on the camera, on the crew and on how grimly cold the night air is. I replicate the filmstrip in my mind and watch as it whizzes past in a perpetual blur. What are we set to? 24 frames per second? I'll count them. I stroke my hands through Lea's silken hair, grabbing at thick, luscious curls to twirl them between my fingers. 96. The tip of her nose slides over my own as she angles her head. 168. I drag my thumbs down her warm cheeks. 240. "I like you too," she utters into my partially open mouth, each word separated by a small kiss. Bring on the fireworks, I urge silently as she continues to consume my soul, before we reach the chorus of this note-perfect caress. 360. Her tongue slides effortlessly and unexpectedly past mine. My stomach lurches with clenching pleasure and an internal reflex almost causes me to kick the seat. She repeats the action and I'm forced to endure an enjoyably grueling punch to the gut that rips through my body. Rhapsody-induced shudders drive their way down my abdomen. At the back of my throat desperate sobs echo and toy with my vocal cords provoking guttural moans. I change my mind; I want to stay like this forever. Maybe. Yes. Air is thoroughly overrated. Mercilessly, she continues to assaults my senses until I think I can no longer bear the frenzy of sensation in my pelvis, abdomen, heart and head. Nothing feels quite like desire. _Nothing _hurts better than love. Right now I don't care if she doesn't want me that way. I refuse to wish this away. She is the best I never had.

"Bang," says Shea, our second second assistant director, with quiet enthusiasm. Lea steals away from me so that we might stare in awe at an empty sky. The fireworks are to be added later during editing because someone failed to get a post-midnight pyrotechnics permit. But my eyes still have stars in them, so visualizing pretty lights is not a problem. I'm panting like I've just been suffocated. Her warmth has been sucked away from me and I feel like I've been plunged into icy waters. "Brawl," Shea whispers, interrupting my thoughts. On autopilot, Lea and I turn our gaze towards where the parking lot is supposed to be, and pretend to hear the screams of cheerleaders falling into a heap.

"Did you...?" Lea asks, pointing up at the imaginary light display in the sky with a frown.

"No," I reply. "I assume you didn't either. So who...?"

"We're just lucky, I guess." She begins to look at me like I've taken her breath away. "You're beautiful."

That's always nice to hear, even when it is scripted. My bottom lip and chin shudder. Tears well. Reaching out, she grasps my waist and pulls me into her so that I might cry onto her shoulder. Dozens of eyes stare at us. It is in no way an intimate moment. We're just acting. Well... she is, anyway.

* * *

_"So, she smokes." - _Raleigh St. Clair, after reading a private investigator's research on Margot's background, which includes being adopted, a previous marriage, several one-night stands with other men, and a lesbian affair - 'The Royal Tenenbaums'

I select a playlist, insert my earphones, turn up Javier Navarrete's 'The Funeral' as loud as possible without being audibly obnoxious, and kick back with a new book. Nothing is going to bother me today. Absolutely nothing. I've decided. Today, I'm just a criminal posing as an actress to avoid the police. I'm not me. Just one more episode after this one, then I'm free until the new year. I'll worry about 2011, well, in 2011. I've just got to get through the here and now. Pretend like nothing's happened. Treat her like normal. I know, I know. I'm covering my eyes when I should be covering my ears, or vice-versa. But honestly, what else can I do? I'm stuck. I can't be mad at her. I really can't. I tried before but it took every ounce of strength I had and I paid the price in guilt extraordinaire. Anyone who has ever tried to look Lea in the eye and stay angry has always found it near impossible. It's like trying not to bite off the last remnants of a lollipop or prevent yourself from running around the sign that says 'Keep Off The Grass'.

I won't stop loving her. I refuse to just kick her like a bad habit. There is obviously a reason why I do love her, and no reason to stop. But in her eyes, I'm nothing more than a close friend. So that's what I've got to be: a close friend. A friend who loves her and will do anything to support her. I'll admit it, my heart feels like it's been trampled on. Unrecognizable. An amorphous blob. Squashed beyond all recognition. Anything, _anything _would have been better than the reaction she had given when I told her. Repulsion. Rejection. Pity. I'd have taken any of those gratefully. I think. So I'll just have to not be me. I'll flip this existence. Dianna can live in those fragmented moments where she is being kissed and caressed by Lea. I will live and die by the clapper board. The actress playing Dianna is here, reading Elmore Leonard and wearing sunglasses indoors. Oh, and a thick black knit hat. It's cold in here. I expect I look like a spy. Perfect.

The new me starts now. Marisa is going to housesit for me this weekend and I'm going to check into a random hotel. I can't use my old pseudonym since the media worked it out. Damn them! So instead of Charlie Dodgson (a little predictable perhaps), I'll be Jona Vark (a little conspicuous perhaps). Lay low in my own mind and try not to think about Lea. I'll read books. Watch movies. Maybe I'll, goodness, I don't know, go shopping and buy out the contents of a few dozen boutiques. I'll write a story that Lea can't cast herself in. Like a short film about an housebound obese man who survives an apocalypse. Of course, if I do, I'll be forced to eat this hat the day she turns up at my door in a sumo suit and fake beard. I'll try the impossible and write a song she couldn't possibly sing. Come on, Dianna. Just a few more weeks. Then I'm busting out of this irregular routine and into a different one. I'll be able to do weird things with my hair, wear henna tattoos and paint my nails blue. The make-up department won't be around to look at me like a kitten with paint-covered paws. Utter joy. I can do this. I can keep standing until then. Crying is what my home, my trailer, my car and Colfer shoulders are for. Save it, suck it up and stick it out. I'm not going to freak out. I promised myself. I will do this.

Experience life and move on. That's how I'll roll. Like with the books I read: plough through, soak up and pass on. Share the love. Shelving them (unless they're pretty or old or both) seems wrong to me. Books are living things; they tell stories and deserve to be heard. I won't box up the relationship I have with Lea. I'll relish it while I have it, I'll 'read' her for as long as she is my friend. I've tried to shelve her before; it didn't work. She's too interesting; too magnificent. But there's a whole world out there and I can't keep centering my attentions on one Lea-shaped part of it. It's really terribly ungrateful for me to wallow in this when I have so much in my life. So today, I repeat, I'm someone else. Yes siree, Bob. Now let me read this book so that I might absorb myself in yet another world. Especially while Lea is just over there, curled up on a chair, and looking more precious than anything. Shades on and book up, Agron. (Or should that be Vark?)

* * *

"Dianna?" someone says. Female. Not Lea.

I find myself muttering something about my name being Hans and the words 'exile', 'Chile' and 'fraud' fall inexplicably from my lips. Blearily, I open my eyes to find I'm blinded by beige. My book has flopped onto my face, my shades are askew and Danny Elfman's 'Into The Garden' is playing in my ears. There's an apple core on my lap and one leg of my jeans is wedged halfway up my calf. Cory is in the corner, smirking at his cellphone. Let's hope I didn't drool.

Amber reaches out her hand. "There's something you might wanna see, buttercup."

* * *

With a raised eyebrow, I pout as Kevin comes to stand behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder to get a good look at what I'm reading. A huge photograph of me at the Primetime Emmys stares back at us from the tabloid. "W-why do they even care?" I ask with confusion. "I don't understand it. I... it's just..." My heart is racing. He slips his hands around my waist and hugs me like a protective cloak.

"I just think it's stupid. You gotta ignore them, same as always." Amber tips her head down to look up at me, po-faced. "Not that I don't think you should give it up. Because I do." She looks past me and shouts out: "And that goes for other people too!"

Naya peers out from behind her phone and calls back. "What have I done _now_?"

No, the article isn't about sexuality and playing a girl with girl-leanings. It's about smoking. They say that I'm influencing fans to pick it up, and have an inset picture of some supposed thirteen-year-old wearing a Glee shirt and lighting up. I feel helpless, just like when the paparazzi see me wearing fake fur and assume its real. I wouldn't do that, and I wouldn't influence people to smoke. It's my addiction and my business. No one needs to tell me that it's not good for my voice or my health. I'm never going to advertize or promote it. Except that's exactly what they've done. Highlighted and relished in my bad habit. How does that help the world? To make matters worse, I received a message from my agent this morning asking if I wanted to do a 'Got Milk?' shoot. Hello? Is he serious? That'll be an awkward conversation when I call him back. I think I'll be losing the Gersh Agency soon.

"Give up the cancer makers," Amber yelps at Naya.

"Mmhm. Yeah, later." Naya goes back to texting.

What infuriates me more is that, after reading that vilification, all I want is a stupid cigarette. What would the alternative me do? Oh well, it looks like she wants one too.

* * *

_"Later that evening Frankenstein and the Beauty Queen sat thumbing through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, making plans and holding hands."_ - Daniel Johnston - 'I Save Cigarette Butts'

'Uninvited' airs tonight. Lea's organized for everyone to gather at Cory's house for chips, dips and assurances of acting chops. Eight times she had asked if I was going and I was staunchly vague each and every time. When the ninth ask had arrived I did my best, put my thumbs in my back pockets and stood like a cowboy to add emphasis to my nonchalance. She had simply dropped to her knees, grabbed the loops on the front of my jeans, overzealously pressed her cheek to my zipper region and wailed about how sad she was that I wouldn't say yes. A minute of fake histrionics, a group of laughing crew members and, like a sucker, I said yes. Who wouldn't? So here I am and, oh dear, Cory's had an accident.

"See this?" he says, looking down mournfully at the big wet stain that Chord's beer has caused. "Never try and throw a football phone like it's a real football. Life lessons don't get any truer than that." He starts unbuttoning. I slap my hand across my eyes and laugh hard. "Di," he says, hopping around the room as he tries to undress his lower half, save for his boxers. "You shall be my butler and I shall name you Buttkiss. Buttkiss! Bring me new pants." I salute (because I'm not sure what butlers do) and run for the bedroom. There's a knock at the door. "Buttkiss, you answer the door and Chord can fetch me pants. Fetch me man pants, Chover. Or I shall beat you with the celery sticks that the tiny mistress said I had to provide." Sometimes I worry about the day Cory hits 30 in case stops embracing his silly side.

My eyes are half closed. I pinch my nose to stop myself laughing so much as I pull wide the door. A larger figure than expected. Theo? Yes, Theo. He's standing there in his skinny ripped jeans, striped sweater, tight red jacket and trilby. I cough away the last few of my titters. "Uh. Hi!" I say cordially. It's a Tuesday. It's LA. It's November. He's a Broadway performer. So what the...

"She's parking the car." He points over his shoulder. I nod silently, smiling widely while panicking that he's quit American Idiot early and is moving here permanently, which, frankly, is a pretty dumb thing to worry about given that the other week I was willing him to do so. "Are you gonna let me in, or is Lea like a backstage pass that I need to hang around my neck?" he asks sardonically, rubbing his rough chin and smiling crookedly.

"Sorry, sorry! Come in." I loop my arm through his and walk him through to where everyone is sitting. Heather jumps out of her seat and lunges for him. I think she has a mini crush on him. It's quite cute. He picks her up by the waist, puts his hat on her head and drags her around while he greets everyone else.

"Good evening all," I hear Lea say as she steps into the room. I must have left the front door open.

"Fred!" A now re-panted Cory shouts at Lea. Goodness knows why.

"Wilma!" Lea shouts back. Aha, I see. She gives him a hug around his middle and bites her bottom lip as she grins.

"I wanted to check something with you. Malodorous means the same as melodious, right?" Cory asks. "'Cause had an interview the other day and that's what I said you were."

"Cory!" she scolds him.

Holding his arms up like a T-rex, Cory allows Lea to bat playfully at his sides with her fists. "Ow, ow. Lower. Ow. Oh yeah, just there. Oh no, wait too hard. Actual physical pain. Hey, Theo! Your girl is mauling me."

"You're a big, str... tall man; just be careful of the teeth near the belt area or you'll lose your fucking dick," Theo shouts back with a chuckle. Lea looks like she's having a heart attack, but is actually curled over with laughter.

Chris emerges from the kitchen and places his arm around my waist. "I've just heard words similar to plucking and prick so I'm assuming that Mr Stockman is in the house tonight," he announces confidently. Over on the large sofa, Theo punches the air triumphantly. Lea drifts towards us and Chris puts his other arm around her to clutch us both. Lea's hand creeps towards the middle of my back so I twitch out of place. There is no way that I'm gonna let her tickle me to excess while I'm staring at her boyfriend. I feel nauseous. Perhaps a little wine will make me relax.

* * *

"You guys killed your group songs. I'm, like, super, super proud." Lea claps from her bouncing position on Jenna's lap.

It's going well. Everyone is tipsy (some by proxy) and it's all been very nice, fun and calm. For a while there was chatter, the clinking of glass, and some muttered song. We're now at the end of the episode and everyone has become rather sedate, all focused intently on the TV screen. Chris has his arm around my shoulders. I squeeze into him for protection. "Do you need to go out?" he asks in hushed tones. I just grasp his knee and hide behind my beer bottle: beer, not wine, because I went with the general consensus. Same as with the food. About an hour and a half ago, Lea had nearly pinged off the ceiling when Harry had suggested pizza. She'd then taken control and before I could say 'I don't need anything' she was on a call to Cruzer for one that she and I could share while the others ordered from their usual place. At one point in the evening she had actually offered me a piece of Daiya cheese looped over her fingertip. Does she think that's normal? Is that normal between 'just friends'? I'm sorry, but if I had wrapped my lips around that proffered finger, I think there would have been more than a few suggestive remarks from the rest of the room. I can't say I wasn't tempted, though.

"Which of you boys need books for your laps?" Lea asks with a laugh as she sways into Chord, who then has to try and push her back up without touching her inappropriately.

Kevin speaks up and is talking like a British brainbox. "I'm fine, thank you. I can only achieve a state of arousal by visualizing my own face." At that, Amber and Naya immediately fall against each other and cry with laughter. Jenna snorts.

On screen, Quinn is about to kiss Rachel. Wait for it. Wait for it. Have they slowed this down or was I really that hesitant? Oh, there I/she goes. Everyone whoops and cheers. My world laid bare on screen. I feel like such an open book. Everyone can see it, can't they? "Can they see it?" I mutter to Chris.

He shakes his head. "Of course not. No. They're not looking for it," he whispers.

I know it's logical. He's logical. But in my eyes I feel like the room has been just shown an adulterous act; I've been incriminated and my comeuppance is due. Out of the corner of my vision, I keep an eye on Theo. I wish I hadn't done, though. He's grabbed Lea by the waist and dragged her around so that she has to straddle his hips. Her knees dig into the back of the couch. He's seeking a kiss for himself, but she twists to turn back to the screen and watches my lips hit hers for the second time. Theo looks at me with curiosity and my mouth suddenly goes dry. I look back to Lea, her shoulders hunch together and her nose wrinkles delightfully as she glances at me, blows a kiss my way and rabbi hugs me from across the room.

Credits roll. I need an escape. I'm disappointed in myself for giving into my cravings, but surely I've got an excuse. Stress if nothing else. I'm up and out of here. Out to the yard for a cigarette and away from judge and jury. I've made one mistake, though: I'm not alone. The judge has followed me into the fresh night air. Theo smokes too and has come out to join me.


	10. Down The Hatch

**To Skytoucher:**He's real all right. His last name is Stockman. I'm sure he's an okay guy but he's in the way! Glad to have you stuck as a fan.  
**To BattlingBard:** He definitely needs some tree-lovin'. Shoo boy, shoo.  
**To Rioshix:** I do that too! Hope you found something to your liking. I thoroughly recommend 'Crazy On You' by RoxyStyle011 and 'Where The Heart Is' by StephyBlue - those stories inspired me, hence this 'in the mind and in the moment' stab at 1st person)  
**To Heyalove: **I certainly hope that, when it does happen, I will be able to make it worth the wait  
**  
Note: **This chapter is for my good friend Bonamy, who can always be trusted to give me an encouraging nudge when I'm being slow. :P

* * *

_"Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be."_- Kurt Vonnegut

"Your voices are really pretty together. You should do more duets," Theo says with a lax nod, his chest swelling with another deep inhalation of smoke.

"That's really sweet of you to say, Theo. Thank you." I fumble with my packet and drop my lighter, which he kindly picks up and hands back to me. Watching me utterly fail to get a light, he tightly perches his cigarette between his lips, and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a book of matches. Scoring one, he holds the cupped flame towards me. Cast in shadow he looks like some young guy from a motorcycle movie. A rebel untamed. Admittedly, a slightly emo one who looks like he might drive off a cliff with a crazy smile, but a rebel nevertheless. Timidly, I lean over and hold my shivering hands around his as I inhale gently to make my tobacco catch. "It's cold," I mutter as I pull back, mostly because I have nothing else to say. I'm wearing three layers, leggings and a zipped-up Canucks hooded sweatshirt that comes to my knees (no prizes for guessing where that came from), so I'm anything but cold. I'm simply nervous as I've never been properly alone with Theo before and he's just watched me kiss the love of his life. I wonder if he saw on screen what he feels in his own heart. Perhaps my love is not a patch on his. I wait for an accusal, but it doesn't happen. "Not performing tonight?" I ask.

"I'm always performing," he says with a smirk and raised eyebrow. "Honestly? I've got a few days for a funeral so I flew over to see Lea after the big dour event." He shrugs sadly and I feel guilty for wishing him away. Turning the end of his cigarette towards his lips, he gently blows the embers. Ash flicks onto his black-painted fingernails. Mine are deep red today. I'm reminded of playing cards. He and I are like a soldier and courtier to our Queen of Hearts. But to whom does she give favor? Wait, is whom right? What's the trick? Answer the question and see if the answer is he or him? If him fits, the correct word is whom. Let's try it. An answer could be: she gives favor to him. Oh, I've answered both my questions in one fell swoop. How delightfully depressing.

Theo has a beautiful, brazen boldness about him and I imagine Lea loves his male prettiness, not to mention his bulky, protective frame. Ocean eyes. Carefree attitude. Coarse mouth. Coarse chin. It's been a while since I've kissed anyone who had stubble. This man, my would-be could-be should-be rival, holds a strange lure for me, mostly because I want to understand why Lea is into him. What makes her desire him? Is it in his kiss? I stare at his pinkish lips and wonder. For a split second I have the freakish desire to honey-trap him. I'm disgusted with myself. This infatuation is turning me into the worst sort of person. Any more of this ridiculousness and I'll be designated as a cactus for my next life. "I'm sorry for your loss." I press my lips together and dip my head. "It's good for you to see Lea. She'll make all the pain go away." If only she could take away mine.

"Yeah," he breathes through a billowing cloud of smoke, which he then channels skyward as if he were a blue whale blowing water. "Couldn't do without regular doses of my green fairy."

"A year now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, just over."

"How are you coping with being apart for so long?" I sound like a therapist.

"Skype is my friend, my friend." He winks at me. Cute. "I've got to get my kicks somehow and I don't wanna cheat." Less cute. "So Skype is the business, like phone sex with visuals." I feel a little trapped. Irked. I'm forced to think about Lea sitting in a robe with a glass of wine at her side, pushing her hand down her bare abdomen and making kissyfaces at her webcam. Worse still, she talks to me on Skype chat sometimes - I was the one who installed it for her - and I can't help but wonder if she multitasks. Those long gaps in conversation... my my. Flashes of Lea's lustrous eyes come to mind. I can still feel the glorious imprint of her tongue on mine. These simple, stimulating memories make my stomach tighten and I'm forced to look away from Theo until the sensation fades. "It's that -" he continues to explain "- or jerking off to some sick porn that some nethead has written about you and her." My teeth grit. Forget the lamb; a little of the lion inside has risen and is roaring at him. I remain stoically stony-faced and even manage to force a roll of my eyes. He laughs and flicks his cigarette butt onto the grass. "I'm joking. I'm joking!" I don't even feel like I can be mad at him, because Lea wouldn't. I must live by her standards. But part of me wants to say: 'Hey, buddy, that's my on-screen girlfriend you're talking about! Have a little care.' He throws a Lifesaver into his mouth and pings his left canine tooth with a fingernail. "All good. Minty fresh." I concentrate on smoking so that I don't need to talk and end up holding such a large drag of smoke that I end up almost choking. The nicotine is making my heart beat extra fast. Someone's left a shot of some sort of pink liquid out here. I tip it back. Down the hatch and, hopefully, down the rabbit hole.

The effects of drinking aren't happening swiftly enough for me. I'm far too aware of every one of his words as he continues to talk about his relationship with Lea. She seems to be his favorite subject, but then she's mine too. It's almost as if he's trying to emphasize that she belongs to him. Staking his claim. Territorially marking his property like a threatened animal. And, to be honest, he has every right to do that because I'm in love with her and I get to kiss her without consequence or retribution. An (almost) guiltless affairless affair. Not that he's aware of that; at least, he doesn't seem to be. I would never want to steal Lea from him. I simply want a parallel life in which he has someone else and I have her. I look up and send a wish to the skies.

My cigarette is almost burning my fingertips. Theo's stopped talking and is standing there with his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting for me to finish smoking so he can walk me back in. "Don't worry about me," I say, swapping hands so that I can hold the tip like someone might hold a joint. I see him smirk. "I need more fresh air," I offer. Just leave me in the dark, Theo. Leave me in my acrid haze that is far closer to toxic than fresh. 'Please', I mentally project at him with a nervous flutter of my eyelashes. I'm not in the right frame of mind to hear any more of the plans he has for romantic winter trips to Coney Island pier and the 'smoochies' they'll have come Christmas time. He has his sweet side, but it makes my teeth ache. I want her to be happy. I do. But I can't talk about it with him. I know that's mean. He didn't do anything wrong. I hate that I can't get over who he is to her. It eats me up inside because I want to love and adore everyone I meet.

He seems to get the subliminal message and drifts back indoors. Sinking down onto a wooden seat, I tip my head back and cover the stars with smoke. Inside, I can hear the faint tones of music and bass, of convivial laughter and friendly fighting. I hug my waist with my free arm and relax. The alcohol in my system makes me feel like I'm swaying. I'm on a boat downstream, swept through Amazonian waters beneath a stunning night sky. Leaning over, I crush the cigarette on the inside of a tin pot that Cory has left out for the purpose, even though he despairs of us smokers. Oh, look, someone has left out a crate of beers to chill too.

* * *

My cigarette (it's my seventh of the evening, shush, don't tell) is plucked rudely from my mouth. "Hey," I blurt as my eyes blink open and I struggle to push my body forward. My faculties are little, y'know... thing... afflicted, ah, affected. Moving and thinking. Those ones. I'm not coping well with the half-light either.

Like a photograph under a wash of fluid, the scene develops gradually before my poorly focusing eyes. A Lea shape emerges and is scowling at me. Hey cranky! Now sort of smiling. Love you! "You've been out here for hours smoking away like there's no tomorrow," she chides, waving my cigarette like it's Tinkerbell's wand and causing ash to scatter magically through the air like fairy dust. "I've been watching you through the window. This is your last one because you're being antisocial."

"I've socialized with N-naya and Chord and... and f-Theo. _And _I've been playing Mad Libs with the Twitter people. And I like it out here." So... raspberry.

"You mean you've hung out with the smokers. Is that the rule? Well, in that case, I've no choice but to join you." Putting the filter to her mouth, she draws deeply.

I gasp. "Lea, no. Come on. Don't do that." She's not a smoker. I'm _not_ gonna let her fall into that hideous, deep and dark trap. Not after today! It's _not_ who she is. Sure, I've seen old photos of her smoking, but it just _doesn't_ fit. She's stolen cigarettes from me before (naughty) and laughed about it (adorable). But she's _never _tried to smoke one of them before. I get up from my seat and accidentally step out of my - I stare at my hands and work out which forms an L - left shoe. When did someone unlace my lace-up wedge espadrilles?

"Stop me," she, y'know, thing... taunts, blowing smoke in my face. So pretty. Pinned back hair and... and stuff. All in the right places stuff. She looks like Audrey Hepburn. I love Audrey Hepburn. Did you know that? I bet you did. The smoking blurs (not visually but metaphorically - I'm awesome at sprelling! Yeah!) Lea's cute side. I'm left with the sexy, confident, womanly side. A 1960s chic starlet. I'm haunted by that image of her in a robe. That beautiful skin. Her beautiful neck. I lived with her, y'know; I know exactly what she looks like in a slim-fitting, black, cashmere robe. Yeah! So... yeah. Hm. I bite at my bottom lip and stare entranced.

I tip back the last foamy mouthful of beer and set down the bottle on the floor. It topples and I watch it roll away. If it's rolling, then I must be on a slope; I lean forwards to compensate. Wouldn't it be weird if the strength of gravity were changeable? I read a book about that once and gave it to Kevin afterwards. By Kurt Von-vonne-goot-gud... whatever. I like the name Kurt. Back to Lea and the smoking! Fuck, she looks sensational with that pouting mouth puckered around the tip. I blink through the fog. "Give!" I demand, stretching out my arm and double crooking my index finger at her.

"How many beers have you had? You're not even into beer." Puzzled Lea shape.

I am _well _and truly into this beer. It's in me. And pink stuff. That too. "Mm?" I press my lips together and squint.

"How many?" she probes. Ha funny word.

"Two, three?" I raise my hands to shoulder level and stick out my bottom lip. I really have no concept of how many.

She looks past me. "What? Two or three dozen?"

"Give it here, Lea." I indicate the cigarette again.

"Nope. There is no way I'm giving it back." Another drag. Good golly, Miss Molly. I wanna to slap myself for looking at her with such unadulterated lust. Do not kiss her, Di. I repeat the phrase in my head like a mantra. Not mine to kiss. Not mine to kiss. Only when it's in a script. Not mine to kiss. Do not kiss her. Kiss her not.

I'll let her play her possessive game on her own. "Fine, I can just start another." I crouch and pull out the yellow packet from my purse.

"I'll take that one too. I'll smoke all your cigarettes," she says with a low huskiness that rocks me to the core of my being. She's so blind. I would make love to her so well. It's so darn... _annoying. _I'd make her sing with ecstasy. How can I make her want me instead of the boy-man? Blue contacts? Pah. Cut my hair?

"Don't smoke, Lea. I don't want to be resp... respron... the person who let you do that." I feel hurt inside. Like I've let her swallow poison. I stand and trot unevenly forward. Reaching out, I take hold of her wrist and hold it far away from her mouth. She's strong but I keep a tight hold. "No," I command. "I won't let you." With my free hand, I flap away the smoke in the air so she can't inhale it.

"Well I feel the same." She looks kinda self-satisfied.

I swallow hard. "Huh?"

"I care about you too much to carry on watching you smoke." Her unrestrained hand waves in the air like she's hailing a cab. "I'm gonna steal every cigarette you're halfway through until you stop. What you smoke, I smoke."

She won't try this again. It's a one off. "You've had too much to drink," I say.

"I'm not the drunk one here." She raises her left eyebrow at me and looks entirely smug. "I've only had Coke and juice. I'm driving, remember?" she adds succinctly. Suck sinked Lea.

I give the answer I'm supposed to give: "I remember." My lips part and I pause as I look at her restrained hand. She pretty much has a stick of ash between her fingers now. Why the hell does Theo get more autonomy than me? Why not stop him from smoking? Why stop me?

"Everyone said that article shook you up and I just knew you'd be hurt by it. But this is no way to deal, Dianna."

Oh. My. God. How does she always read my mind? It's got private things in it for God's sake! Private! "I..."

"And I know you've tried to give up about eight thousand times already so I'll have to use some psychology," she adds. "Every time you take a puff, I take a puff. My lung disease is your lung disease."

What about Theo's lung disease? My lip curls with dismay. What is this trickery, Mistress Sarfati? Hm? "But... but what if I do just let you smoke the end of every one of my cigarettes? What if I don't stop you?" I shrug unevenly.

She looks at my fingers whitening as I struggle to keep her arm at a safe distance. Right now I'd pin her to the ground to stop her smoking. The cigarette finally drops from between her fingers, and I feel the dry heat of it brush past my hand on its descent. She stamps it out with the toe of her boot. "You would, because you already are." She locks eyes with me. I practically hear the click.

Stop the tram, everybody off! I'm taking this vehicle off the lines and driving home to watch 'Labyrinth' under a patchwork quilt. Mom, I'll be needin' chips! I don't have the wherewith-whatsit-al to cope with this. Stop sexing me, Lea. That's not psychology it's... it's seduction. Jeez. Why does she not know the difference? Maybe it's me. Maybe I don't know the difference. Curses! I'm still holding her arm with a vice-like grip and her hand is turning dark, like it's in shadow. "'kay, I'll give up for good." I let go of her and see her bounce, just like she did when pizza had been mentioned.

"You have to promise. Or I'll be on your back 24-7." She points a finger at me as she crouches briefly to grab the butt and put it in the trash. "And I know you don't lie. So do you promise?"

I look back at my purse briefly, and at the pack sitting open on top. Four little filter tip circles stare back at me like happy, beckoning faces. "Yes." I nod softly. My brain feels like it's sloshing about in my skull. My head's a martini. Dizzy. If I were a cartoon character, an olive on a stick would float past the whites of my eyes.

"Good girl." She returns and pats me on the back. Dizzier. "Are you okay?" she asks, suddenly sounding very concerned. Maybe I've turned green or grey or something. I still feel my normal pinky-pale but you never can tell from the inside.

I nod. She takes me by the elbow, pulls me away from the house and brushes a heap of dry leaves off a plastic lounge chair. We sit. "I am sitting now. You can go back in the side... inside." I push lightly at her back but she doesn't budge.

"I'm good, thanks. I'm staying. I haven't properly had my Di time." She nudges her shoulder into mine and then shivers. "Let me in there?" Her hand lands on my collar bone and begins dragging southwards. I feel like she's unzipping my soul. No... wait. She's unzipping this huge hooded sweater. I take it off completely, my arms flailing about like one of those inflatable tube-men that you find at used car lots. I'm not at my most elegant tonight; completely ambisin...ambisinistr... a klutz. Let's face it, this is not sexy. I'm a wreck. Forget sexual partner; I'd barely make a good shopping partner. Lea pulls the sweater around us both. My head feels really odd and I can't focus on anything. You know when you stay in the bathtub while the water drains away? You feel twice as heavy? Yes? I feel that. I also feel unsteady, like I'm not quite in this universe. I grab Lea's hand and use it to stabilize myself. My hearing is a little off but I think she says: "I got you."

I feel frightened. The yard won't stay still so I close my eyes to stop the feeling of motion. We might as well be on a ferris wheel. "My shoe is off. My foot is cold. I have a bird I like to hold," I chant.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks tenderly. "You don't seem it."

Quoting Dr Seuss is normal if you're me. "I guess."

Her thumb rolls over the back of my hand and I wince. "Oh Dianna! Did I cause that? I'm so so sorry," she says nervously. I look down to see a few small burns I hadn't even been aware of; nothing I'm not used to. Gently, Lea blows the faint dusting of ash away, and draws my hand up to her mouth. Her lips envelop a knuckle and I feel the keen pressure of the tip of her tongue as it glides over my faintly wounded skin. I draw sharp breath from the sheer unexpected pleasure of it and squeeze my knees and thighs together. "Sorry," she apologizes before blowing onto the area to cool it. It hadn't hurt. My whole hand is now tingling. My eyes go wide and feel as big as moons. I have so many wounds she could heal with her touch.

She gives me these subtle hints and signals, but I must be reading them all wrong. I'm so confused. "Can we just pretend?" I find myself saying all drawn out and slow as a tear slips down my cheek. I'm drowsy. Floating downstream again: a tropically-inclined Lady of Shalott. In the land of pretend is where I am happiest, where she is mine and I am hers. Can I, perhaps, have that world for just a few dreamy moments?

"Pretend?" she asks with half a sweet laugh. "That's our job all the time. Don't you wanna be yourself?"

I shake my head and hot tears begin to roll, each chasing after the other as if taking part in a merry ski race down my icy cheeks. Slumping over, I rest my head on her shoulder and push my hands around her waist. Gently, she strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. "Please?" I don't mean any harm to anyone. Just acting. We could create brand new characters to play with.

I feel her unclasp my hair clip, which must have come out of place. "We are who we are." Her voice is as calming as the sound of wind through trees. "I can see it in your eyes, all the time, and even when you're smiling. You're not the contented, happy girl you once were. Analyzing too much. Thinking too much. You'll feel different given a couple months. You're gonna see your family soon and you're going to come back feeling a different woman." Feeling which woman? Can you give me her name now as it may save time later? Her arm slips around me, tugging tantalizingly at the hem of my tunic that lies over my hip. She draws me close. "We've got that photoshoot and interview just before the break, right? Well, I think you should, ah, talk about the split. Let it out. It's got to be putting you under a lot of stress. Y'know, wondering if... if Alex is gonna talk first, or, um, if the media make something up before they know the truth. Huh? Yeah?" She tips my head up and I nod feebly. "Sometimes life doesn't work out how we want it to. Just... be careful, okay. You're emotional. Don't let anything hurt that pretty heart of yours while you're vulnerable." She grabs a sweater sleeve and dabs at my face with it. "And just -" I watch her lick her lips "- just be mindful of the fact that you're... very precious to me and I _really _care what happens to you. You're on my conscience, you hear?" She sort of giggles nervously.

I'm not this girl at parties, not the one sobbing her heart out in the corner. I'm the one who is up and dancing and almost getting knocked out by her own superduperextraooper exuberance. "Yes." I nod again but the crying only gets worse. My chin begins to shudder and I feel my cheekbones start to ache. I don't feel good at all. The tension of emotion makes my head hurt like I've been smacked with a baseball bat.

"Oh God, Dianna. I know. I know," she soothes, rocking me gently. "Life's cuckoo. Really confusing. None of us has all the answers. We're all learning." I can hear in her voice that she's about to cry too. "Sometimes you have to fall completely apart just to know how to fit back together." Her tongue slides over her top lip as she breathes in and then sighs raggedly. "I don't ever want to see you hurt. I don't ever want to see you drinking or smoking because of a sadness." She sniffs and wipes her cheek with the base of her palm.

"I feel scared." It's all I can utter.

"I know you do, sweetheart." Tears fall freely from Lea's incredibly pretty eyes. "You're drunk and everything sad feels even worse when you're drunk. But you don't have to be scared because you're gonna be just fine. You're just on the rebound at the moment and whatever you're feeling, about... about whatever... you're gonna look back next year and think: 'I'm really glad that I didn't do this or do that'. Okay?"

Rebound? A rebound from Alex? Does she think that's what this is? She breaks my heart when she cries. I don't want her to be sad. "I don't understand." I feel like this is all so important. I feel like I need to record it. Like she's letting me in during the one moment when I can't process it, when I won't remember it all. Where is a camera crew when I _actually_need one? "I just want to pretend that I'm not alone." I just want a pill to undrunken myself. I want the ground beneath my feet to stop feeling like a storm-swept ocean that is calling for me to sink into its dark depths.

Her expression cracks and she smiles through a sob. "You're not alone. You are very much loved. You are... definitely _not _alone."

"But, but... when we're acting, I'm one of two, and I want to be one of two in real life." So much. Let's play house: I'll be the daddy and you be the mommy.

"Lemi!" Mark calls from the back door. I physically jump in Lea's arms. "Theo wants to know if you're ready."

"Tell him I won't be long," she calls back, instantly composing herself. "Dianna's had a little too much to drink so I'm gonna sit with her for a bit."

I clutch her tighter and watch as Mark disappears back inside. "You need to go to Theo," I blub incoherently, gasps for air catching in my throat.

"You're just as important to me as Theo, okay? He'll understand," she says softly. I shudder as I weep into her shoulder. I'm a drunken mess. I can't even remember what I was talking about before. She continues: "I know it can be hard playing someone who's in a relationship when you're not in one yourself." Oh, yes, that. "I'm lucky because I'm in two relationships. One with you, and one with Theo. One is real, and the other, despite being make-believe, is... important too," she exposits. "You got me?" Does she mean the one with me is real? What is she saying? I feel like I'm in a house of mirrors where I'm constantly faced by false images everywhere I turn. My brow furrows and I shake my addled head. Ow. "I'm not explaining myself very well," she goes on. "The way you feel things, you, Dianna, is amazing. You really take it and put it in your heart." She thumps her hand on her chest. "So when you're playing Quinn you're there, in her head, and you're really kinda crushing on Rachel. And that's got to be hard to step away from."

"Did Chris send you out here? Did he ask you to come and talk to me?"

"Chris? No, I came out here because I wanted to stop you smoking. Look, forget that. You've created something very special for us on screen. But you've got to make sure that you look after that heart of yours." She places her hand on my chest and I feel like it's glued there. "This life is precious and we've got to look after what we have, right here, right now. Our friendship is there for you to lean on. Remember that. I really value it. It's so very important. And one day you'll have everything you ever wanted," she assures. "I'm sure of it. One day you won't need... Rachel to kiss away your worries. You won't need to rely on something that's pretend. I wish that for you. I really do."

I sit back and find the strength to move away from her. The hoodie pulls off my back and enshrouds her. I break out in a confused and embarrassed smile. "Sure." I feel sleepy and that patch of grass near the fence looks distinctly inviting.

"I just don't want you to get hurt." She leans over and places her hand on mine. "Understand?"

Yes, I understand: Rachel's not real. Even in my alcohol-infused stupor, I get it. She thinks I'm infatuated with a figment of Ryan Murphy's imagination. My stomach hurts from swallowing the small doses of reality that she's feeding me. "Mm," I agree lightly. My lungs can't utter much more.

"Look at me, Dianna." She tugs me around and I feel like my brain is spinning in my skull. She's frowning with desperation. "_Please _tell me you understand what I'm saying!"

I thought I did. But now? Now I'm not so sure. Darkness falls, her passionate, begging eyes wink out of sight and I finally fall out of the universe. Oh well, maybe I'll find out what she meant some other time. Something important... I wonder if the extra strong gravity is on today.

* * *

Note to self: Next time, when Lea is trying to have a heart to heart with you, do _not _pass out. Those situations are hard enough to get into; there's no need to make it harder by almost knocking yourself unconscious on Cory's grill, then by being carried by all the boys to the spare bedroom, only to wake at 9am because Cory chooses that moment to bat at the pillow you're hugging with a pair of drumsticks. Love that boy, but teetotalers really don't understand hangovers. Scratch that, I'm being stupid, Cory definitely understands, and now I feel guilty for thinking that.

Other note to self: No more drinking... ever. Okay, maybe wine but no beer. And definitely no pink stuff; like smoking, it's just no good for my heart.


	11. There Be Sharks

**Note:** Sorry for the wait. I had the first 90% of this written before I even posted the last chapter, but then I got brainfail and got all stuck. But it's here and ready for you now. :) Additional characters are not based on anyone, and fear not, they will not become regular features in this story.  
**Note:** Someone alerted me to the Lexy stuff just after I finished writing this chapter. Oo er. Not gonna change this chapter though.  
**To Gaylien-sparkles:** You're right, she is ever present and a go-to gal for the pair. We shall see...  
**To The Lion Quinn:** Funny you say that... the tables may be about to turn.

* * *

_"Life is like photography; we develop from the negatives." _- Unknown

We are on the cusp of the winter break; poised on the cliff face and ready to plunge into refreshing new waters. All the filming for Glee is done. It's a wrap, as they say. Music reverberates off the walls of my house and I'm safely contained in a bulging bubble of cushioning melody. Joyfully, I jump off a chair. Yes, I know good etiquette. I know about grace. I know about keeping up appearances. But sometimes my body just goes gung ho and I'm leaping over there, sprawling under that and climbing up those. I can't help it; it's just who I am: an eldritch soul in a regular girl's body. With a dancer's instinct for dramatic movement, I get carried away. Or, if you like, I'm just a child at times. I'm feeling good. I don't know why exactly. Not smoking is a curse _and _a blessing. My hands are constantly seeking something to hold, and, when I'm sitting still, my fingers rumble over each other even more than usual. But, frankly, one more desire unfulfilled is not that hard to handle. And food tastes simply amazing. Honestly, amazing. I've also found that I can laugh at life. If I couldn't, then I'd be worthy of being laughed at! Right? Oh, you know what I mean. More than anything, I have hope. Not that Lea will suddenly change her mind and leap into my arms, but that I will be okay. I'm looking forward to life.

So... the night I got drunk. Well, I don't exactly remember much. I'm not sure there was anything to remember as such, apart from tear-stained cheeks and warm embraces. One message stuck with me, though: tell the world I'm a single lady. Alex was in town the other day, so we met up and it was really nice; we had coffee and he told me about his new girlfriend. I'm so glad for him. No regrets. Most importantly, he's happy for me to slip a note into the pocket of the press informing them of our break-up. Not slip an actual note, by the way; I will try to say it in words... out loud.

Last night I Skyped with friends until four in the morning. Of course, being me, I didn't realize it was well into the small hours, and almost dialed my mom. Glad I didn't make that mistake again! Anyhow, I talked with four much-beloved old friends. Made four _new_ friends. Look at me and my sociability! I also agreed to take on four new projects. Don't worry, I'll fit it in. My mind may pop, but I'll fit it in. I want to. I wonder if four is a significant number today. Anyway, despite the lack of sleep, I'm feeling all sorts of pumped and enlivened. So I'm getting all my energy out before a car comes to collect me for a photoshoot. I'm so excited. Most people would go to the gym. Actually, that would have been a superb idea. But, equally, the vacuuming would never get done and that would never do. And what's more suited to a little lyrical-hip-hop-jazz-freestyle, than cleaning up? Now... I _need _to get ready; don't want to be picked up in my pajamas, now do I? If I stay like this, it would be a fashion faux-pas, non? Depends on the pajamas? I see.

* * *

_(Translated from the French) "Close your eyes, tell yourself no one is looking at you." _- Antoine, in response to his wife's initial reluctance to dance - 'Le Mari de la Coiffeuse'

I adore dressing to excess and will joyfully submit to any level of corsetry discomfort. Layer me and make my hair extraordinary. Lace me up and adorn me. It's what I live for. The neophile in me is having field day. Nervous but excited, I sit primly as a pretty young woman applies kohl shading to my eyes, while a rugged older man stands to one side and backcombs my hair. I'm well accustomed to the close touches of make-up artists. There once was a time when I fell slightly in love with each and every one of them due to their intensely close administrations. Not so now.

The woman smiles brightly. The bluntly-cut bangs of her long, midnight blue hair seem to hang static as she peers furtively into my eyes. "Nice skirt," she remarks with a coquettishly-arched eyebrow. The skirt? Flared, white, black lines, vintage, teacups and teapots. A favorite. I threw it on for comfort, not for good opinion. As soon we're done here, I'll be taking it off in favor of the magazine's choice. I grin widely but am unable to reply as she is now stroking lipstick across my lower lip with a fine brush, and leisurely blending it in with the pad of her thumb. Her breathing is slow and her blue eyes are glossy. I could swear that she's interested in me, but I've been wrong about that before. Nearly every day I'm tackled near naked in and out of clothes, brushed and painted into a pre-set image, through which I then act. It's no wonder I get muddled over when someone is truly attracted to me.

A large metal door swings wide on its hinges and clangs against the wall. Lea breezes into the starkly-lit studio. She has a tall cup in her left hand and a large designer bag in her right. "Hey, so sorry I'm late. I thought the driver was going to have an aneurysm when I asked him if we could go get coffee before coming here." She's not addressing me; instead, she has approached the shoot organizer. Waving, she blows a kiss my way. She's no diva, but stand between her and a morning caffeine fix, and you may get plowed down. After that first hurdle, it's all good. For a moment I forget where I am as I lick my newly-painted lips and swallow hard.

"Eyes closed," the woman in front of me strongly commands like Ali Baba. I'm a good girl and so I do as bid. She chuckles, clearly tickled by something.

"Mm?" I ask. For all I know she may have painted me up a clown. I just hope it's the more psychotic, dark kind and not the fourth birthday kind.

"Nothing," she snickers under her breath.

I am annoyingly intrigued. "Please?" I whisper. The hair stylist has wandered off to find a second set of rollers, since my hair seems to have somehow absorbed a full set already

"Ignore me. Just my imagination, I'm sure." She pauses for what seems like a good minute. It makes me feel itchy. I shift in anticipation of her explanation. "It's just they all said... well, I read you were straight as a die." She shrugs and pouts.

My chest is fluttering. I don't believe she thinks me dishonest. No, I know exactly what she's implying, and I have no idea how to react. I can't help but blink rapidly; this simple action forces her to pull back so that eye-liner doesn't streak down my cheek. "Dice have many sides," I blurt. Why did I say that? She's seen me look lovingly at Lea, and now I've pretty much confirmed her thoughts. Why didn't I just laugh it off?

"Touché, Agron." I appreciate her boldness. I also appreciate that she pronounced my surname correctly. She's stifling a wide, knowing grin; a look that implies that she understands and knows all my secrets. I find myself laid utterly bare. This is different to when I talked to Chris: I expect friends to identify my vulnerabilities, but this stranger doesn't know me at all. Well, no more or less than the rest of the general public. I feel light-headed. "Want to go out to a gig on Saturday night?" she asks, unexpectedly. "My cousin missed his flight so I've a spare ticket for Broken Bells. We could talk... sides of dice." There's a hint of mocking in her voice, but she's asking a genuine question.

Briefly, I look back to Lea who is sitting in a chair, having moisturiser applied to her cheeks. In about an hour, she and I will both have donned vintage dresses and the innocent looks and poses will ensue... followed, no doubt, by the lusty ones. "I didn't catch your name."

"Kara."

Today feels like a day for taking chances. "You know what, Kara? I think I would like that very much." Of course, if she turns out to be an undercover journalist, I'll be very sorry come Sunday.

* * *

My mind is out to get me, I think. This wouldn't feel so awkward if I hadn't fallen asleep in the stylist's chair after the first costume change. Dreams where Lea kisses your neck and whispers sexily into your ear can do something to a person. I was fine before.

In this mock up of a sultry, darkened cocktail bar, Lea and I sit side by side, leaning back against the keyboard of an old, tarnished grand piano. The shoot set, which is backed by deep red drapes, has shades of Hitchcock, Twin Peaks and more than a hint of a well-known Richard and Julia scene. As for the dresses we're wearing: Lea is in a short, black, low-cut number and I'm in long, cream satin. Both in Givenchy heels. Both with hairstyles that take influence from the '50s and '60s. I'm attempting to ignore the blitz of flashing lights from the continuous shots. Smile. Smile. Pout. Pout. Smile. Her hand here. My hand there. Turn. Foreheads together. Hands entwined. A look that says 'I'll love you forever'. A sparkly-eyed laugh.

People consider me graceful, but I struggle with the effortless femininity that Lea exudes so readily. She is so beautifully at ease in front of the camera, and she knows all the poses that best benefit the sublime curves and lines of her slim body. She has no problem having sex with the camera either. I try, but I'm often 'all elbows'. Being yourself on film is always harder than being someone else. It always takes a while before I relax, whereas Lea, well, her soul always seems to be on show. It's all in the eyes.

If you haven't already guessed, this is our first photo shoot as an on-screen couple. Just us. The magazine will be out next month and by then the relationship will be very much up and running. Time flies. Only a few weeks ago Cory, Heather and Naya got their own saucy 'Three's a crowd' shoot with a high profile men's monthly, the name of which has currently escaped me (perhaps for legal reasons, or perhaps I've just forgotten). And now we get our turn. Let's hope it doesn't cause quite the same furor.

A moment's peace comes when our photographer stops spouting commands and leaves to grab a different lens. He had me slumped on the floor with the remnants of a purposefully broken string of pearls resting in my lap. I tugged them free, at his behest, from Lea's neck, in a mock-up of a passionate fight. I rise and go to sit elsewhere, but Lea immediately senses my escape and grabs me around the waist, hugging my bare back to the exposed 'V' of her chest. "You good?" she asks. "This is fun, right?"

I am enjoying myself. I _am _having fun. But while I'm in this intensely observed world, her prettiness makes me unusually shy and overly self-aware. This dress is so thin, it's practically diaphanous. Her fingertips ripple over my stomach like warm water and I just want to sink back into her arms. "Yeah, I'm just having a hard time loosening up. You know what I'm like." There must be a way to blow away this self-consciousness. The behind-the-scenes cameraman zips between the lights and records our hug. "Make me smile," I request, already doing so.

"Uh..." She nuzzles her nose into my hair to make me giggle. "Ah! Last night I downloaded two _hundred_ and forty-three Christmas tracks. Some of them are just really, _really _horrible. But I just had to have them. I regret nothing."

"You're joking, right?"

"Nope. Two hundred and forty-three. And that doesn't count the ones I already had. I'm _so _gonna overdose when I'm on the plane home. I'll be frothing artificial snow at the mouth." She sniggers and I feel the tickle of her warm breath on my neck. Those dream-fettered kisses still ache on my skin. I long for her hands to slide down beyond my stomach and calm my racing pulse.

A small revelation about how much I'm going to miss her over the break comes when a gaggle of stylists gather and split us apart for a flurry of retouches. No sooner has the flock of combs and brushes arrived to fly at our heads like angry, pecking birds, than it has gone and we're primped to their satisfaction. It's like a reverse hurricane; if you come out alive, you look better for it.

The lights are dimmed a fraction. Here we go again. This isn't a 'hot' shoot, nor is it a make-out session, but Lea always manages to inject... something. She's smouldering at me. The photographer wants us to relax. I assume his comments are directed at me, because if Lea relaxed any more, she'd be asleep. "Get up and move around to the side of the piano," he instructs brusquely. "Dianna, put your back to it. Arms outstretched. Hands splayed on the surface in a 'take me' pose." He runs at us, his camera bouncing heavily on his chest, because I've not moved in accordance with his desires. "Here." He pushes me into position and then pulls Lea over so that her stomach is pressing firmly at my side. Her arm extends over me and lands beyond my waist, locking me into this pose. "Lea, I want you looking over there where that stylist is standing." Kara waves. "Kara stay there so she knows where I mean. And Lea I want you to act like you're protecting Dianna. Okay? Dianna... just look at Lea like you wanna fuck her brains out."

Oh no. I do a double take at Lea. Trust your photographer. Trust your photographer. "M'kay." Lea isn't laughing because she's taking this, and him, seriously.

The photographer looks discontented. "Not right," he says, stroking his rough chin. In a swift movement, he's taken Lea's hand and planted it below my hip. His hand on hers, he roughly has her grab my thigh through a clutch of satin.

My eyes want to roll back into my head. I'm incapacitated by palpitations. I don't feel like a sexy siren; I feel like Fay Wray grasped in the paw of King Kong. The lens is retrained on us and ready to shoot. I gulp.

"Hold fire!" Kara shouts and runs forward. She bolts to the side of me and wraps a lock of my hair around a portable set of tongs. As she pins it back, she leans over me and whispers: "You look like someone's got a gun pointed at your back. Chill out." I bite my lip and relax a fraction. Lea is looking at us with curiosity; she can see Kara mouthing something, but clearly can't make out what it is. She edges forward like she wants to get in on our game. "If it helps, the next shoot is cowboy and floozy. And you'll like this... you get to be the hot sheriff." My jaw tenses with a smile. I grip the tip of my tongue between my back teeth to stop a wide grin from appearing. "Problem is... you won't get to find out if I'm lying until you finish _this _shoot. It could just as easily be pirates." She smirks and steps away from us. Lea watches her go and then looks back at me inquisitively. The tautness in my stomach has been released. I feel free. I allow my eyelashes to flutter and let my deep-seated appetites rise to the surface. This is one of those occasions where I'll let the world see my soul. Through hungry eyes.

* * *

_"It is not necessary for the public to know whether I am joking or whether I am serious, just as it is not necessary for me to know it myself." _- Salvador Dali

"Would I go gay for Dianna?" Lea repeats, leaning forward and smiling cheekily. "You have you seen her, right?" She looks over at me and I feel my face flush. "Of course!"

My inner child bounces gaily, but is suppressed when I consider that she'd say the same for any one of her numerous female friends. Blinking, I realize I'm being asked the same question she was. "I don't think I need to grace that with an answer," I laugh. Oh God, was that negative sounding? I didn't mean it to be. If this were a radio interview, people could hear it in my voice. It's not. Back it up, Dianna. Back it up pronto. "Lea is one of the most beautiful people I know." There have been times when she has knocked my literal senses out of the figurative park. Careful, they might think I mean that she's just lovely to know. "Inside and out." Lea's expression twists and she reaches over to touch my arm tenderly. I tap at her hand and give her a wide smile. I love making her happy. I love making her feel attractive. "I don't think I'd be quite the person I am today without her." Too much? Lacking in relevance to the question? Please skip on, Mr Interviewer, before I begin to recite a twelve stanza long poem in appreciation for Lea's waistline and back.

He raises his eyebrows at us both and shifts on his chair. "Now we know you're both currently attached -" there be sharks in these waters "- but given your answers to my previous question, have you always been into men?" Big sharks. _Big _sharks with incorrect facts and the desire for a scoop. I always think it's a little much when they ask questions like that. I mean, what do they really want us to say? If I say anything remotely gay-orientated, they'll leap on it. The sinister way in which he asks gives me the creeps. I feel like I've been asked if I've ever driven drunk or smoked a joint. It's incriminating. It's personal. And if I don't answer at all, I look guilty. How the hell do I worm my way out of this one? Hmm. But then why should there be guilt associated with being attracted to the female sex? Let's see what Lea's saying now.

"... so I've totally had crushes on girls. And yeah. I'm an open person. I'd never discount someone because of their race or religion, so why sex?" she says with a pronounced lick of her lips.

"I agree," I find myself saying. They both stare at me. Meercats on the horizon. What? I do agree. You want more? Smiling, I shrug nonchalantly. Did Lea just say she's had crushes on girls? Why couldn't I have been one of them? That minor snub burns a little. Close eyes. Forget about it. Oh, shoot, that was my 'in', wasn't it? How am I going to drop this bombshell about Alex?

"You won't get any more out of her; she likes to be cryptic." Lea thumbs over her shoulder.

"Oh, and you know all her secrets, I bet?" he asks. I've just noticed that he's flirting heavily with her. Hey, she's got a boyfriend; you just mentioned it two minutes ago, buddyboy. "What with having lived together and all. Does that mean you know each other's worst habits?"

This is the point where you start scanning your brain for the least worst thing you can say about someone. Lea perks up. "I sing too much and Dianna stays up naughtily late sometimes. She used to distract me by being cutely entertaining and luring me to the couch with wine. I need my beauty sleep, you know!" Yes! Excellent. I was going to say something lame about towels. Though her assessment of 'late' is completely different to that of most people. Okay... maybe I don't get as much sleep as I should.

"Your characters have been getting some lip action," he says while winking at Lea. Whoever has a bunch of red grapes, please pass them this way. I'll take some extra large shades while you're at it. Much obliged. I'll just let Lea take over from here. "Is it weird kissing your friend?" he asks, and of course he means: 'Is it weird kissing a girl?' Does he not know? And why the hell should it be? It's not weird; it's heavenly.

Lea looks at me for reassurance. How do you say: 'Say whatever you want, but know that whatever you _do _say, I'll be taking it to heart,' by just moving your eyes? She laughs, dips her head and then rubs her nose self-consciously. "I'm kinda used to kissing my friends now. I don't know if you've noticed, but Rachel does pretty well for herself." She chuckles again and rubs at her thighs. "Dianna and I both have utter respect for each other. Those lights can make it very hard and you're mostly just thinking: 'Does my lip look weird if I smoosh her face this way?' and 'Did I just rub her hair in such a direction that she's gone all 'There's Something About Mary'?'" She's now glugging down half a bottle of still water while the interviewer is curled over in laughter.

I feel mean because I haven't had those thoughts, and so I may have inadvertently made her look silly on film. "Lea is lovely to kiss." Who said that? Oh my... it seems to have been me.

Lea slaps me on the thigh. She thinks I'm being sarcastic. What the hell is up with her thinking I'm playing with her head all the time? Twice now in so many weeks. To make the interviewer laugh even more she's now reeling off a lot of mock disparagements about me. Will she... oh yes, here it comes. "There isn't a day goes by when I don't want to slap this woman," she jeers. "She's an absolute nightmare to work with."

I join in. "It's true, I'm an awful diva."

"The worst," Lea agrees, shooting a sideways smile at me and fluttering her eyelashes. "A complete bitch."

"For real?" he asks. Is _this _guy for real?

"Oh you," Lea replies with an incline of her head. Don't flirt back!

"Favourite song?" he asks, squirming in his seat.

"Are you kidding?" Lea says. "That's way too hard. That's like asking which of your parents you'd save in a fire. Do something else. How about songs that make us think of each other?" she asks and he shrugs. She's too much sometimes, but I love this side of her with a desperate passion. "So... 'Nature Boy' by David Bowie and Massive Attack. After the first day we met, I was driving away from the Fox lot and that song came on and it has this great mysterious, otherworldly beauty and I thought 'this absolutely exemplifies the future friendship I'm going to have with that Dianna girl'. So every time I'm play the Moulin Rouge soundtrack I'm like 'Dianna!'"

I did not know that. That's wonderful. Beautiful. Tear-jerking. She is reminded of me despite the reference to a boy; this gender non-specificity appeals greatly. I pounce on the conversation like a tiger. "For me it's just the _whole _Eternal Sunshine album because, the day we moved in, it was all I would play. So if I hear Jon Brion, or Beck, or The Willowz, this one -" I point at her and grin "- just pops right into my mind." Who am I kidding? She's always on my mind.

"Mr Blue Sky by ELO," Lea adds.

"Oh, yes! Totally." I bounce up and sit forward in my chair. Music always has me interested. My chest thrums with excitement and this grin couldn't get any wider.

"That was playing when you headbutted that kitchen cabinet door," she laughs, and then mimics the reaction I had at the time.

Proud moment, there. "Oh, gosh! I'd completely forgotten." I slap my hand over my mouth.

She turns back to the interviewer. "Day one. Four hours in the Emergency Room. We girls don't do anything by halves."

She hi-fives me just as I hear a text come through on my phone. It's from that stylist girl, and it reads: 'Still up 4 our date?' I look up in time to hear a question.

"What is the difference between yourselves and your characters when it comes to love?"

Mine is getting action? I've been thinking about that question lately and have an answer. "Quinn is surprisingly cerebral. Whereas, with me, there's an almost maddening lack of forethought." No forethought, just a oodles of postthought. "For my character, love is just this thing she desperately wants, but doesn't know how to deal with or keep. Especially with loving a girl. It's just way too complicated for her to really get her head around. She puts on such a strong front that it's really hard for anyone to chip through that hardened exterior to find the soft-centered-girl."

Lea nods sagely and then offers her own view. "Rachel's just... she's a little clueless. I hate to say that about the girl, but she is. She's watched way too many romantic movies and, uh, has a very pre-set notion of what love is, and what it should feel like. Being out of control of her emotions isn't something she'd ever banked on, so she'll, like, keep on trying to bring the situation back to something she understands. But it isn't always the best place for her to be." She presses her lips together and taps her chin to indicate that she's finished.

"Okay, awesome. Uh..." He checks his notes. This is one of the least smooth interviews I've ever taken part in. "Prize possession?"

Lea is straight in there. "Right now, for me, it's the knife set Jon, Jonathan Groff, bought for me. I'm like obsessed with just cutting up everything. Which is important because you're _nothing _in my family if you can't julienne," she jokes, straight-faced.

While she's talking about the Golden Globes and carrots carved into flowers, I send a speedy text to Kara: 'Did you mean to send this to me? Date? Di.' I look up and give my two cents. "She's frightening when she chops. I can't look. It's amazing, though. Fierce. I fear for those hands." I laugh. Oh dear, I shouldn't have said hands. The rumor lichens will sucker onto that one. "And, to answer your question, well she's not a possession as such, but I'd have to say my mom." I laugh because I just _know _what Lea's response will be.

Oh yes, she's straight back in there, reeling off items. "Oh yeah, my mom, my dad, my family, friends, y'know, my animals... and my vinyl records... oh and my KitchenAid."

He smirks at the haste of her words. "Any up and coming projects?"

Lea strokes her hair behind her ears and leans in. "Uh, my new book: 'How to Double Your Lifespan By Flossing Daily' will be out in the Spring," she teases (I think she's doing it because she's finally realized this guy is a bit of a jackass) and then continues to talk about PETA and the two movies she's involved with.

A text flies onto the screen of my phone. 'It's a date if you want it to be a date. No pressure.' I'm a little taken aback. A girl... a woman is asking me out on a date. How do I feel about that? I can't say that my sexuality hasn't been at the forefront of my mind for a good year now. Do I like her? Do I want to date her? I'm not entirely sure I want to date anyone right now. I feel eyes on me and stutter as I say: "Sorry?"

"What have you got coming up, Dianna?" Lea asks me, sweetly.

"Oh, well, uh, y'know, always got things going on." I stuff my phone in my purse and run my hands through my hair. "I Am Number Four comes out in the new year... so that's really exciting and -"

"That's with your current boyfriend, Alex Pettyfer, right?" The interviewer looks over at me like an excited puppy who's just heard food landing in his bowl.

Deep breath. "Alex is a truly lovely man, but he and I aren't dating. He's a wonderful friend." Now he looks like I've trodden on his paw. Lea looks at me with clenched fists, praising me silently by granting me the widest of wide smiles.

"So... have you got a new guy?" he asks hopefully.

I blink rapidly. Today is the day for taking chances. Remember? "No... not as such. I'm not dating a new guy." Keep breathing. That's it. In. Out. In. Out.

"So you're single?"

"I... I haven't decided yet," I say with numerous notes of uncertainty. Lea is looking at me with a very deep, confused frown. "Maybe?"

"But there's no guy in your life at the moment?" he asks. Lea tilts her ear towards me and purses her lips.

I can only say what I know to be true. "No. There's no guy." I envisage the two destinies that lie at the ends of this particular fork in the road. The corner of my mouth twitches into an uneven smile. I can feel it. I can feel the rush as this information prepares to leave my mouth. I feel exhilarated. I don't know if I'm a lesbian, I don't know if I'm bisexual, but I do know that I don't mind not being entirely straight. All I really care about is being honest. I have to be true to myself at the cost of everything else. Lea has taught me so many lessons, and that one in particular has always seen me through. And this is no big deal, right? "But who knows," I continue before either of them can speak, "there might be someone else."

How long will it take, do you think? Before I receive those messages that tell me I've 'broken' the internet. Before the grapevine explodes in much the same way as it did the night Rachel and Quinn shared their first kiss. Before my manager calls to give me a talking to. Like a beating heart being rushed down a hospital corridor, this little nuanced fact will fly fast around the globe. I know it will. It's the way these things work. I may have just 'outed' myself, but I'm strangely calm. I guess now would be a really good time to make that call to my mom.

In the meantime, I still have no idea how to reply to that last text.

* * *

Oh my gosh. What the hell? Make it stop already. Once and for all. Lea Michele and I are _not_ dating!


	12. The Point of No Return

**Note:** Not safe for work as it's blushable (in my opinion, anyway). The second scene may have you going 'aw naw' but please go with it as I think it says a lot. Let's just say it's something I felt I had to address.

**Note:** And the answer to the question you'll have by the end of this part is :'Yes, but not for a good few chapters yet.' ;) Don't worry: this story will finish in the same style in which it began. Please don't hurt me.

* * *

Song of the day: Next to Normal - I Dreamed a Dance - _"The dancers may disappear. Still the dance goes on."_

My bottom lip is wedged firmly between my teeth. The ticklish drag of her mouth creeps steadily up my inner thigh. Fingertips blaze sensation across my breasts like rampant shore waters. Soft palms press and pull. Almost unbearable. No, actually, I lie: entirely _bearable_. I could bear this all _day_. I throw my arms back to grab hold of the bed frame as her silken hair slips over my knee. My stomach muscles couldn't be more tense, brimming with lust and desire. The heat produced by my body amplifies the coolness that the tip of her tongue leaves in its wake as it slides, without direction, over delicate skin. My pelvis rises, pushing skyward, in expectation of (and begging for) a kiss that needs to be placed on that most brutal, yet so beautifully sensitive of intimate places. Yeah, there. Exactly! You get it. She nips suddenly at my skin and causes me to yelp, giggle and shiver all at once. Gasping shakily as her hands slide down my ribcage to roughly grasp and pull at my waist, I squeeze shut my eyes as she firmly yanks me down the bed. Not far. Maybe even just an inch. Far enough. Enough to make me feel the strength of her desire.

The sheets have rumpled underneath my rocking hips. Whisper-light breaths coast tantalizingly close, then drift away. My impatient, salacious side rises higher; it pulls at my arms and demands that I take control. Reaching down, I desperately grab for her, my hands tangling in her long hair, but, in a flash, she's already where I want her to be. Oh God. Fuck. My spine freezes and locks. Can't remember how to breathe. The connection is made. A scorching fire lights inside. A jump start generated by the electric touch of her mouth, lips and tongue. It feels _beyond_ amazing. I nudge my legs hard against her soft sides so she can't escape. My knees rise and fall as I squirm with delight. My shoulders dig into the sheets and my back arches a little. I'm rising. Getting lighter and lighter. Blood is pumping fast and my head is absolutely swimming with intense pleasure. It feels incredible. In_cred_ible. Transcending sensual. My fingers drag pleadingly across her pale, supple shoulders. She responds with a hard nudge in just the right direction. A pulse. I'm just a throbbing heartbeat now. A collection of muscles that twitch and clench at her command. I think she's smiling. She knows I'm so damned close. I really fucking love that this angel locked between my legs is smiling. I'm so -

Blam! The alarm goes off. My hand flies towards it, and I fumble blindly for the switch or button or whatever turns the stupid thing _off_. Damn it. My eyes blink open. I feel a dense ball of heat in my chest, and also in my... never mind. No matter. Tough shit, Lea; just get up and try not to disturb Theo. He's sleeping like a poseable Action Man figure. Aw. I kiss his cutely balled up fist and slip out from under the covers.

Wait a moment... _what _was that dream I just had?

* * *

Planting my hands on the edge of the washbasin, I stare at my reflection. I've _never_ had a dream like that before. Actually, I have, sort of. But not involving a woman, and especially not involving _Dianna_. Not like that. Could've been worse, I guess! I don't know. I just feel a little weird and oddly ashamed; not for the deed itself, but for invading her private space and taking something intensely personal without permission. I'm not sure I'll be able to look her directly in the eye when I'm back in the studio next week. This is weird. Mega weird. Super weird. It must be the scenes we've been doing and the fans being so weirdly adamant that we should get together in real life. Something like that. It's just gotta be. I watch myself lick my lips. My hair is all over the place. I'm very aware of my body as I stand here in this thin robe. As I breathe, I can feel my breasts rise against the fabric. My heart is still beating hard. My belly is still full of aching tension. My skin still glistens from passive exertion.

"Hey." Theo makes me jump. He dives past me for a toothbrush. I snuggle into his side and brush my teeth too. He gives me a big foamy smile and, after a while, we both rinse our mouths. He gives me a bear hug from behind. I reach back, smack his bare butt and breathe out shakily. "You okay, babe?" he whispers into my ear.

I don't lie to him. Never would. "Had a dream. A pretty sexy one."

"Yeah? About me? Or do I need to get jealous?" He kisses my neck and I feel his rough chin graze my shoulder. It's all I can do not to push him to the floor and straddle his waist. I may need an outlet for this non-dissipating lust.

Pursing my lips, I frown. "Jealous? No. It was kinda odd, though. It was with... uh... Dianna."

I can see his surprised expression in the mirror. "Glee dreams again?" he asks with a self-satisfied smirk.

I shrug. "Maybe." Without the presence of argyle, or even a _scrap _of underwear, it's hard to differentiate.

He reaches down and pulls loose the cord around my waist. With his hand, he rubs comforting circles over my stomach, occasionally venturing around my waist. I'm gonna be needing a little more assistance than that; it's just making it worse. Taking his wrist, I pull his hand up, kiss his palm then cup it over my left breast. "Oh," he utters with pleasant surprise as I press back against him. "Tingle times, huh? Well let's add some queen to this king-size," he giggles. I turn in his arms, interlock my hands behind his neck to pull him down a little, and press my mouth against his. Jumping up, I wrap my legs around his waist. He walks us towards to the bed and falls backwards onto it. A rough landing. My hip bone smacks against his and my knees jar against the mattress, but I don't care about being uncomfortable.

My abdomen presses hard against his and I can feel his sudden reciprocal need for me. He doesn't need a sexual dream to turn him on; just my lips and body, and perhaps the thought of me and Dianna having sex. I stall a little, my eyelashes fluttering rapidly. This is either gonna make things even weirder with her or, hopefully, gonna cancel it out. Maybe. Difficult. But I don't have the time or inclination to stop. My body knows what it wants. It's entirely primal. I'm compelled forward. It may be cruel, but I've had my foreplay, kindly bestowed by my beautiful friend, and so I'm jumping for the big finish. I doubt he'll mind. I toss the robe from my shoulders. Swiftly, Theo's fingers run through my hair and down my back as I ease myself down; a guttural moan escapes my throat in a rasp. I hold steady and breathe shakily. I've pounced a little too eagerly, but it feels so good to scratch the itch my dream left me with. Should I blame the alarm for my lack of completion? I wonder if I should feel weirder than I do and ponder why I haven't freaked out yet. I can't help but imagine where the dream might have led. My eyes shut tightly as I lean backwards to bring the best pressure. Hands grasp my breasts tenderly. I tilt my hips almost imperceptibly and move blissfully.

Look, I'm no porn star. People have sex, right? It's a normal, y'know, thing. I crave it, and no more or less than any other average person. We choose a person we like, love, and we go for it. We... well, damn, I need this. We need satisfaction. We need to feel _alive_. Feel wanted. You take what you have, and you make it good. Make it work for you. Why does it sound like I'm apologizing for having sex with my boyfriend? I don't need to do that. That's ridiculous. I make a grab for my own thighs. Given time, might I have repaid Dianna the favor? In my dream, I mean. Might anyone else have turned up, or was this just for her and me? What the _fuck_? I really shouldn't be thinking about that. About her. I need to wipe her from my mind, or I'll have my much-needed conclusion to add to the list of things I'll be embarrassed about when I see her. And favor? What the hell do I mean by favor? That's just a ridiculous word to describe that kind of... loving act. I'm still thinking about her. Shit. I make the effort to open my eyes and look at Theo as his jaw tenses convulsively. I drag my fingernails down his chest and he inhales sharply. I draw this out. My knees dig hard at the soft covers as I try to reduce speed. His hands grab my ass in desperation; I push back against the grip instinctively. Eventually, I allow him to take charge of my aching torso. My body is starting to tremble.

My head falls back. What do dreams want with us? What's with the way they hold us hostage at night, and show us these visions while we are bound in sleep? Are actors' dreams more surreal than most? These dizzying thoughts spin around my head. In dreams, we could hurt people, commit adultery, and do the unthinkable. What does any of it mean? It's like playing a part that your own mind has written for you: it lays it out, sets the scene and throws you to the lions (singular in this morning's case). You don't get to choose the plot, the outcome, or even audition. Parallel lives with parallel Leas. You're just there, feeling everything as if it were real, with your subconscious as the director, commanding: 'Tip your head back. Stretch your neck. Arch up a little. Really feel her tongue against your skin. She's driving you wild with want, Lea.' My eyes close, forced shut with the entirely stimulating memory of a mouth where I need it most. I need it just _there_. Sensation is key; who provides it is not. Yes, keep telling yourself that. Stop over analyzing. Keep telling yourself that you need this feeling to carry you through. It will all be good in the end. There's no going back from this edge that she's brought me to. I'm way past the point of no return. Abandon thought and... and...

At night, are we broadcast visual playouts of events that we _truly_ want? Wait. What am I doing? Repetitive motion allows me to process too much. Mind on track. Mind on the movement. Mind on the man beneath me. Exclude Dianna from my thoughts. Make her lithe shadow fade. Take those divine kisses away. Obliterate that softness. Dreams are just _stupid _dreams. Deep breath and... in an unexpected instant, flashes arrive behind my closed eyes. Blonde hair. Hazel eyes. Slender hips. Come on, Dianna, help me here. Get out of my head before I... I... I'm gone. My blood courses. Tidal waves crash. A heartbeat as loud as cry in a temple deafens me. I drop and shudder. The last rocking of this boat ceases and I'm a heaving wreck. My sinuses feel strange and my over-clenched teeth hurt. Above all, I feel a hot, heavy stone of guilt in my stomach. I just feel wrong and tears well in my eyes. Finally, I drop to Theo's side and huddle against him for comfort.

"I'm gonna miss you, baby," he utters softly, stroking my cheek with his hand. "Really much." I'm so lucky to have a boyfriend who loves me as much as he does. "Will you call me when you get into LAX? Otherwise I'll worry."

Oh shit. I'm flying back today. How did I forget? I run my fingers over his bottom lip and he kisses the tips sweetly. My stomach churns with self-resentment. He never deserved to be used like that. I feel like I should be saying sorry for thinking about someone else whilst having sex with him. I can't, though, not on my last day in New York; that would be an awful send off. I'll settle for feeling bad about it. "You know I will." We can't be sorry for what we do in dreams, but we _can _for what we do in real life.

* * *

TV show of the month: Sex and the City - "_The most important thing in life is your family. There are days you love them, and others you don't. But, in the end, they're the people you always come home to. Sometimes it's the family you're born into and sometimes it's the one you make for yourself."_

There is not a day goes by when I don't thank God for bringing Jenna Ushkowitz into my life. Every year, on Thanksgiving (naturally), I call her parents and thank them over and over and over for what they did. Then Jenna calls me and laughs at me for making her mom cry again. Let's face it, can you imagine an eight-year-old me just casually bumping into her if she'd been raised in Korea? No? Exactly. Everything happens for a reason. My life wouldn't be what it is without her in it. And the chick looks hot in every kind and color of plaid shirt; what's with that? Just saying. Today she is my moving buddy because, you guessed it, I bought a house! I've asked her to go organize my life (and my furniture) so she's ordering a few burly guys around and checking they don't scratch the paintwork. What would I do without her?

Like a dork, I'm lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. A cold Red Bull is planted on my chest and Jenna lies down beside me. "Oh, you _saint_," I gratefully cry.

"Did you get bored or something?" she giggles infectiously as she watches me try to open the can without tipping my head forward or pulling my sleeves back over my hands.

"I'm doing this because someone said that it's easier to work out your floorplan if you look up, though I can't remember why. Do you know why?" I ask, giving up and pushing my sweater sleeve up to the elbow.

"No. But I say we just stuff it all in the corner and then, every time you need something like... like number one would probably be the couch, you pull it out and put it where you want it. After a few weeks, you'll have everything the way it should be. And really, really strong arm muscles."

"That's some messed up Feng Shui right there." I laugh and jab my finger in her side. She squeals. "I can't believe we're almost due back at work already. I want to start _now_." My eyelashes flutter with excitement, but then I feel nervous all of a sudden. "Have you... seen Dianna yet?" Like tinnitus, the, uh, above-ordinary dream I had about Dianna rings in my mind. I haven't seen her in person since I got back. I hope I don't blush, or worse, blurt: 'Sorry for having dream sex with you the other day! I really should have asked first. Ha ha!' Y'know, like the crazy person I often am when the dial on my brain is set to 'Dumb Brunette'.

"Mmhm." Jenna blows her cheeks out and smiles all twinkly at me. "She's been back longer than I have. I've seen her a few times. As soon as I was off the plane, she was calling me up wanting to go to Boyle Heights."

"Boyle Heights?" I ask curiously as I sit up and take a swig of this drink.

"Yeah, you know, to that disused hospital over there. It was like the eeriest, weirdest place I've _ever _been. Totally awesome and just plain ol' creepy." She sits up without the use of her hands (must have been working on her abs... go Jenna!) and looks at me wide-eyed. "There's this room which looks just like a scene from an insane asylum; there are eyes drawn all over the walls... and crosses and scrawled words and stuff." Her shoulders shrug together. "It was like standing in the aftermath of some kind of apocalypse."

"Did you stay until after dark?" I ask, using my best horror voice, twirling the can between my fingertips.

"Only for like an hour. Just to get some cool shots. But, Lea, by the time we decided to leave it had become pitch black and the electrics were off. We were _absolutely_ scared out of our minds. Di just like clung to me the whole time. We forgot a flashlight and so had to _feel_ our way out. It was intense. So we thought - and, by the way, we thought this was a _smart _idea - that we'd use camera flashes to find the exits on each level. I'm telling you, it was like something out of Silent Hill. I saw faces everywhere. Boom. Boom. Boom. _Every_where. My throat was raw from screaming. Once we got out, we ran to the car like a pair of escaped convicts." Her shoulders roll as she motions running with her arms and her face is twisted with fear. So cute and funny.

"You loved it!" If I did a mind-reading show, I'd use Jenna as my plant because I _always _know what she's thinking.

"Yeah," Jenna breathes, bouncing a little. "Of course! We both did."

I'm jealous. I so want to have been there with them. I wish... I don't know what I wish. I just love being with my girls. I get up and start unpacking books from a box. "Dianna's happier, right?" I stare at a blank wall for a moment. "She seemed happier when I called her." She seemed... I don't know, like someone had cut her string and let her float away. Head definitely back up in those clouds.

"Oh yeah, she's feeling good right now," Jenna confirms as she jumps to her feet, her boots tapping on the polished floor as she strolls over to help me.

"I still feel guilty," I say, catching her glance as I place a stack in her arms.

"About Alex?" I'd be a good plant for her mind-reading show too. We could take turns; I'll take Sunday through Wednesday. "Or about the gay stuff?" she asks with a wince.

I crumple a little. I never wanted to be the cause of torment in _anyone's _life. My actions are always meant for good. "Oh God, shit... both, Jen. I'm still absolutely convinced that our characters' relationship caused her to re-assess her own sexuality and that caused problems with Alex. All my fault. If I'd never spoken to Ryan -"

"Stop beating yourself up!" she yelps at me. "You weren't to know it was a little close to home for her. And she's happy, okay? Promise. She's all blooming and pink-cheeked and laughing all the time. It helped her. You helped her!"

How I'd love for that to be true. That would make it all better. I'd have kissed her every day for a year if I thought it would aid Dianna in finding herself. No one can understand quite how achingly proud I am of her for opening that closet door. So proud it gives me stomach ache. "Are you sure?" I ask timidly, just like I have one hundred times before. If she truly has got herself sorted out, then I don't want to upset the balance. Jenna nods enthusiastically. Maybe I should have Quinn and Rachel break up. "Perhaps I should ask the writers -"

"You and your meddling!" She jokingly pouts at me, kicking at my shoe with the toe of hers. "She's _fine_. Dandy. Super. Just let the writers do what they do best!"

I have a feeling Jenna must be tired of me talking about this whole thing. She's had it non-stop for about a month. It's probably a good thing her arms are occupied or she'd be covering my mouth with her hands and wrestling me to the floor. She glares at me, looking like I do when I give Mia my you're-cute-but-stop-already face when she tries to eat my mom's house plants. "Fine, fine. I'll zip it on that matter. It's the Big Three's fault for listening to me too much, anyway." I smirk. "But don't tell me not to meddle; remember it was me who loudly started discussing what would happen if Tina's dad got arrested for fraud. Tina episodes are important too." I nod sagely. I've got her on that one. Ha! I briefly stick out my tongue at her and she can't do anything about it. Her cute cheeks tighten as she smiles at me. "So what else have you gals been up to?" I ask more cheerily.

"Uhm..." She pouts. "Dianna, Tom, Kara, Millie and I went to this mini festival at -"

"Kara?" I frown. "The make-up artist Kara?"

"Yeah, you know her." She nods and looks at me like I've been knocked on the head with a stupid stick. "Anyway. The festival was awesome and... yeah, now there's great an example of how well Dianna is doing. You should have seen her. She's got this new lease of life. That weight off her shoulders. She was dancing around like there was no tomorrow. Just living it up and enjoying life. Getting all muddy and rolling around. I'll have to show you the photographs. You'll scream." I probably will scream; I'm giddy like that.

"Kara's gay, right?" Yeah, there's no way that sounded blunt and non-asslike.

"Yeah, so?"

So what? So what should I care? I guess I don't want Dianna to fall into the first lap that's offered. I want her to shop around; find the best a girl can get. Right? Oh, shut up, Lea. Dianna will be fine. I need to stop smothering the poor girl. "It's been a long day." I smile and lean over to give Jenna, and the paperbacks she's still holding, a squishy hug.

"As soon as everyone's gone, you're gonna strip off and run naked through the house, aren't you?" She laughs into my shoulder.

"Yeah, of course!" I tip my head back and look at her with wild eyes. "I've got a new house!" I scream. Excuse me: I have to go jump around now.

* * *

Changing homes is a strange experience. I mean, I've done it a tonne of times now, but on each and every occasion it's like re-finding who you are. You sift through your possessions, even the ones you haven't pulled out of the back of the closet for a year, put them all in a box, move them somewhere else and then open it up and say: 'Hello there, me'. It's like re-examining old dreams. Unraveling your past. Every piece of clothing a memory. Every album a fondly remembered friend. The past and the present combined. A pair of twenty dollar sneakers bumping heels with a pair of three hundred dollar designer heels. Wow! That's kinda like me sitting next to the Queen of England.

I am so utterly _blessed_ in this life. I've got everything I ever wanted within my reach. I can feel it brewing in my stomach. I'm going to make it. I _am_ making it. And even if this is the pinnacle of what I do, it's still more than I ever dreamed of genuinely achieving. Sure, we all have hope and dreams, but, _wow_, look at where I am! My career feels good. Feels right. Each time I climb another rung on this ladder, I see more ahead, rising endlessly into the sky. Everything else? I guess that will come as I find it. There's no ladder in relationships and friendships; only bridges and walls to build. There's no set route or choices. You've just got to feel your way in the darkness with a few flashes of light to guide your way. And yes, that's scary, but it's also exhilarating and exciting. We all just have to learn and grow and pray for the best to come. But still, how do you know you're headed in the right direction until you reach your destination? And why the hell have I packed three tubs of expired Joint Boost Formula in the same box as my underwear?

I move to stand at my bedroom window (no, I'm not naked... yet; don't get too excited) and wonder if my dad would kill me if I called him to talk me through hooking up the television. I could hire a guy (or girl), but I can only go so long without it. I'll get the shakes without watching at least one episode of Real Housewives, which is kinda lame if you think about it. Down in the yard something pink catches my eye; it's stuck in one of the plants. Looks like now is a perfect opportunity to investigate my outside space. I have proper, extensive outside space! Everyone give me a 'yay'. Yay.

* * *

I reach over and pull free the thick ribbon from around the thorny stem and drag it back through the green mass of leaves. Ouch. I don't know who exactly has been crazy enough to - and I say this bearing in mind that this person, whoever it was, could have just as easily had a bunch of flowers delivered to the door - sweet-talk my real estate agent into letting them into my yard before I arrived, plant five rose bushes, and then leave them there in the hope that I'd notice them. I get distracted! It could have been months!

Attached to the pink satin is a dampish tag with scripted, dew-speckled writing on it. It reads: 'To my funny lady. A little something to make good use of your compost. I wish you many happy memories in this home. Always, Di.' Oh my... too lovely. Magic. If I hadn't found this note, I _bet _she wouldn't say anything. I guarantee she would have just laughed to herself every time she saw the ribbon tucked away, year on year, getting older and more and more faded. She just would have been happy for me to have the roses. Such a selfless soul.

I push tears away from the corners of my eyes. I'm so utterly moved, and not just because of the whole gesture, but because I'm always touched when someone remembers something I've said. Even something as small as compost. It means everything, doesn't it? I know it means the world to me. When someone takes the time to store information away. When they _listen_. I wonder if she knows that she could just as easily have attached the same note to a single rosebulb and hurled it into my mailbox. I would feel just the same. I'd be just as overwhelmed and happy. But no, she had to do this. Oh dear, here comes the sobbing. I'm such a crier these days. Whatever you do, don't put babies near me, or make me watch Beaches, or go and win spectacular awards, because I may not be able to stop the tears. America doesn't need another flash flood.

I stand back to look at her efforts: at the random shoe prints in the mud and dirty hand prints on the fence. Dianna's been getting down and dirty a lot lately. In mud, I mean. Soil dirty. I have no idea what she's been doing in her bed. Or in someone else's bed. Back to the flower bed. Part of me wants to put the ribbon and tag back; let it become an undiscovered mystery that other people might find, and they'll see what a nice, amazing woman Dianna is. But I think they already know, don't they? _Everyone _knows. She's a gift this world needs to share. I don't know anyone who doesn't love being around her, who doesn't want to take a slice of her time for themselves, who doesn't want to be near her constantly. I've just had a thought... what if these roses turn out to be yellow? I'll just die. No, that's a little too much to expect. Oh gosh, I'm over-hypering (is that a word?) myself again. They'll probably be white or red. I'd still love it, though: I'd love for these roses to be yellow. But then, that's the girl I am, and not everyone knows that about me. I can't help but wonder. Always with the wondering.

Ultimately, the outcome is out of my control; I'll just have to wait and see what blooms. Just leave it that way, Lea. Just be happy with what you have now. Because what you've got already, is simply wonderful.


	13. As If We Never Said Goodbye

**Note:** I miss Dianna too, but I really want to get to know Lea better. Hold my hand while I do it? Sorry this has been a while. I got struck with writer's block and spent a lot of time staring at a blank screen. *creys*  
**Note:** Sorry for foisting Theo sex on you all, especially considering you're here for femslash. Booooooooo. Didn't mean to mentally scar anyone. When I envisaged Lea having a sexual dream about Dianna, I didn't know she'd end up shagging the Stockman, but her character won through because, in her mind, I imagine that to be the logical order of actions o_O. I don't think that Theo is bad for Lea; I just think that she and Dianna make a more explosive, extraordinary and sexy pair.  
**To Kdl94:**In this alternate universe, the magazine interview in the chapter before last was set in December 2010. This and the previous chapter are January 2011. The episode they're about to film is called 'Suella De Vil', and it's the first ep of the second half of cloogle!glee season two. :)

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Sorry for being so awful at updating!

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Quote of the day: Gilda Radner - _"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity."_

Slender hands glide behind my hips, ride roughly over my ass and settle into a clasp at my lower back. With a vocal noise like a tennis player hitting a clean ace, she rockets me towards her and pulls up sharply. I tread air when I find I can't feel the ground beneath my feet. I'm in mild pain in several places: my stomach, my boobs, my thighs. All of them rub hard against hers as she leans backwards to support my weight against her slight yet strong frame. This kind of hug is an amazing validation of our friendship. She missed me! I can tell. "Heather!" I scream like I'm appalled at her behavior. I'm not. I get hugged like this a lot; the curse of being short(ish) means that everyone likes to pick you up and throw you about. Kinda fun, though. So far I've had twenty-four hugs, ten slaps on the butt, and nine kisses blown. Not that I've been counting. Yeah, right. First day back on the set and I'm loving it. I'm feeling that early morning madness. Everyone's got so much to talk about and I'm just dying to find out how they're all doing. We're all so psyched to be back at work. Sure, it means hard graft, long days and an intense schedule, but I get to be with my favorite group of people, and through the weeks there's only going to be more and more of us to add to the party. Could anything be more rewarding?

Oh. Oh. Dianna! "Dianna!" I shout across the room. She's snuggling into Naya and playing with Kevin's hair, but takes the time to raise a hand and wave at me. Not good enough. Nowhere _near _good enough. I need some body to body from my girl or the hello doesn't count. It's like a first day back good luck thing. "Get here!" I call and then mouth: 'I need your gorgeousness pressed against mine'. She tries to make out my words, then frowns with a large, bemused smile on her face. I'm still being suspended ragdoll-like by Heather, so I can't get to Dianna myself. Finally I'm dropped in favor of Naya, which is lucky because Rachel Berry doesn't need a storyline involving enormous bruises on her sides, and the writers wouldn't appreciate another Naya type situation! You should've seen their faces when she called in from the hospital with the results after her fall. Yikes. We so love testing their patience. Next week I'm calling Ryan and telling him I've gone platinum blonde just to hear him have a fit. Damn, Dianna's still talking and sort of canoodling with Kevin. Come on, girl!

We're drawn to different people in different ways, aren't we? Right? Various parts of our personalities line up and click like a zipper, and that's how we know a particular person will become a true friend. Sometimes it's a little more to do with the soul; an instant connection that seems to come out of nowhere. Like a brightness that shines out of their chest and straight into yours, lighting up your insides, like, _boom _simpatico. A blessed friendship unlike any other. When I see Dianna I can't help but want to use up all her time, grab a hold of her and keep her near. I know. I know. Selfish. Well humbug, if she lets me, then I'm there. She's giving me eye contact now, so I'm beckoning her like crazy. I don't wanna go over there because it's too noisy where she is, and I want to hear her voice. Is that weird? No, it's not weird.

The first time I ever met Dianna, it was like having an adorable kitten or puppy (or lamb?) planted in my arms. Animals: you just love them instantly, don't you? Just the sight of her smile and honest eyes grabbed my heart and squeezed like a vice. Destiny called and left her number after the tone. It sounds cheesy but I had one of those conveyor belt moments where you find yourself floating across the room. I _had _to know her. I'm still like that now. She's still the one I seek out in a sea of faces. Her approval is the one I want. I need this woman in my life forever and a day. Amazing. You can imagine my expression back then when I found out she was playing my arch-nemesis. The girl's got skills, I'll give her that. Quinn was written as cold, but Dianna gave her a heart.

Finally! Dianna's weaving through the crowd. There's that brightness. She's got a shiny halo packed in her purse, I swear. After a breezy hello, she gives me the most unsatisfying hug I've ever received; it's like having a sweater snuggled on and then ripped off after two seconds. I'm bugged the hell out. I don't get the chance to scold her for the insufficient contact before she's asking if we can go somewhere more private. My heart bounces, half from fear, as she takes me into a quiet room and closes the door softly. It's been way too long. Way too long.

She's squeezing her fists and chewing her lip nervously, smiles growing and dying on her pretty mouth. Do I have something gross stuck to my face and she doesn't know how to tell me? "God, I missed you," she finally coughs up with a grin.

Bounce. Well that was better than expected. "I should think so too! If you hadn't, I'd have been totally unwarranted in missing _you _so much." My chest swells because friendships like this don't just fall out of the sky; they're granted. I must have done something really good once. Maybe it's a contract thing. I'll keep up on my charity work just in case. She licks her lips nervously and I'm shocked to find that all I can think of is that damned dream where she Black Swanned me. I mean the in bed part, not the blood and violence part. That was an awesome film; I need to buy it when it's out. Wasn't Natalie Portman fantastic? I hate her. Not really. Dianna's gaze is locked with mine. I lick my lips. Fuck, I feel really sorta, like, awkward and hot. Wah. She needs to get on with her response.

"Sorry I've not really been in touch over the winter break," she adds, grabbing one of my hands. Yay contact. About time. Confetti explodes in my belly.

I just shrug, smile and wrinkle my nose at her. "Not a problem. I know you've been busy... San Fran, family, festivals... friends -" for some reason it feels like a few pigeons have begun attacking that confetti and my stomach rolls as I take a deep breath "- and... and a little birdie said that you'd been offered an Advocate interview. I'm so excited for you!"

She pulls back a little and winces apologetically. I don't let go; instead I start rubbing small circles on her palm with my thumb in the hope it has some kind of comforting, reflexological benefit. "I can't do it," she utters.

Can't be out and proud or can't be a lady kisser? Jesus, I don't mean _my_ lady! Bad use of thoughty words there, Lea. I don't need to be thinking about below waistline stuff again. Too late. The sex dream is instantly re-haunting my mind. La la la. Naked. Shoo. I'll rephrase: Can't be _into _women? I'm not sure that's better. I settle on: "Can't do what?" Am I pink in the cheeks yet? She is, but I don't know why. It's not exactly warm in here. Are the lights bright? No. Natural, beautiful flush perhaps.

"The interview with The Advocate. Can't do much of anything. My manager called, then Dante came to see me and, well -"

"Are you saying you're re-closeting?" I clutch her fingers firmly so she can't turn away. I'm in a state of disbelief.

"Well, no. No. I mean. They just don't want me to go public right now because of our ... on-screen relationship and the controversy it would cause... or something. I'm not sure. I couldn't really argue; they own my soul for the length of my contract." Her eyelashes are fluttering and I just feel really sorry for her situation. She made such a bold step and they've kicked her down.

"So you're, like, backtracking?" I'm disappointed. Not in her but because she has to hide part of herself again. I guess it doesn't matter as long as she's comfortable around us, though I don't like my friends being dictated to. She's too malleable and will rarely see wrongdoing in others. I've got to quash my fiery side because if I launch an attack on the producers, it wouldn't make her feel any better. "Is this what your blog entry was about?"

"You read that, huh?" She blinks fast and kinda looks impressed and a tiny bit overjoyed. How can she not know I would have read that? Does she not think I have time for her words? I have plenty of time.

"Of course! And I had a tonne of messages asking if you'd been hacked or something, but I could tell it was you and your style. I didn't think it was about sexuality, though." I shake my head, bemused and trying to recall the essay. All lovely, beautiful words. I read them all three times. It involved a lot of quotes, some of which were a little lost on me. She's anxiously licking her lips again. Stop that! I don't get why she's nervous talking to me. It's so silly. She need never feel cautious around me. I've told her that, like, a thousand times.

"Well that's the trouble with having to undo what's been done in such a way that doesn't prove the original to be correct, or, in fact, entirely disprove it," she remarks, waving her free hand over her temple distractedly.

"And make black become white and gayish-slash-bi become straight, I get it. As long as you're okay... that's what's most important." I nod and drop her hand so I can hold her around the waist. I pull at the overshirt she has on over her long dress and tug at the knot in front. My heart starts bouncing around like a ping pong ball in a jar. I still want a proper hug. It's like I've been shown a banquet and no one is letting me at the damned thing! Physical contact and that kind of personal joy is my only addiction. Hey, why do I feel like someone is whispering caffeine in my ear? Haha. Shush. I'm a busy girl, y'know, I'm allowed. "I love the new hairstyle." She's got this new rough bob thing going on and it matches her personality better than neater, longer hair. It shows off her indie chick nature. "I told you that, right?" I'm not sure smiles from her come much wider. Praise based on truth is one of the most easily-given gifts, and it's also one of the nicest to receive.

"The powers that be weren't that all that happy with me." She looks at the ceiling like a naughty kid and smirks.

Told you we like to piss them off. "I bet."

"But I just needed to do something drastic, and I've been wanting to chop off my locks for quite a while now, as you well know." She gives me a large beaming smile, then looks a little more sullen. "It had gotten to be kind of a burden and was weighing me down. I needed to let go a little and just move on," she almost-whispers. There's probably a double-meaning in there that I'm missing.

Her eyes are sparkling a lot lately. I assume that's a good thing (it could hardly be bad) and I wouldn't mind knowing what's causing it. I've yet to sit her down and have a real girly chat. Maybe I'll have her over to my house for dinner soon. "It suits you. Can I?" I ask, indicating that I'd like a good feel. She laughs at me and agrees. I'm straight in there. Both hands, one either side. I don't want to muss her new 'do so I'm careful. It's so soft and lovely, just like her. I take a good minute, and she looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm just appreciating, girly girl! Once I'm done dragging my fingers through the length of her hair, I push a few stray strands behind her ears and I swear she physically shudders. Must have tickled. I play with her earrings a little, pop her shirt collar and then drum my fingertips down the length of each of her arms. She exclaims about how it feels like tap-dancing spiders.

"I guess you'll be wondering why I pulled you in here," she says through an ongoing giggle.

There was a proper reason? "I just assumed you'd wanna screw me on the desk over there," I joke. Oh shit. Could I be any more stupid? My mouth is so fast my mind doesn't get a look in. I'll explain. Dianna went through this little phase a while ago where she had, like, this baby crush on me, which was, y'know, for me, very flattering. Um. I think that's what it was anyway. Maybe I'm just big-headed. It was so cute, though, but also kind of heart-breaking. I'll admit that I took advantage because I love close touches and intense looks. Who wouldn't? Maybe it was mean of me, but I do adore being around her. I never meant any harm. I just want to make her feel good. At the time she was dealing with her attraction to women, distraught about her split from her last boyfriend, and I was there kissing her. Okay, I was Rachel at the time, but that's gotta be hugely confusing for someone. Maybe it was a bad plan, but I decided to avoid the subject because I didn't want it to come between us. Our friendship is one of the most important things in my life. I think she's good now, though. Especially after a nice holiday break during which, as far as I understand it, her mom was fine about her redefined sexuality, her dad was super fine and her brother may need time, but was warm and understanding about it all. Hey, she's laughing at me! Phew. So, yeah, it looks like I can definitely say that this reinvigorated, confident Dianna is okay with me being my normal, silly self. I can happily cross that off my list of worries.

"You are such a devil for making comments like that!" she exclaims with delight and I pretend to look shocked. Swallowing her chuckles, she coughs and looks at me seriously. I just want to hug the life out of her. I'm metal to that magnet. "It's just that... well... I never checked whether you were all right with everything, and I suddenly thought... any acting we have to do... where we're scripted to be... affectionate -"

"Hey," I say to stop her in her tracks. "My opinion of you has not changed. The way I treat you will not change. I love you, and that has not changed. How we behave when we're acting will not change. You do not need to worry about _anything_. I am and will be unfazed by any little revelation you throw at me, and I'm just happy for you! I support you. Of course, the only problem I have -" she looks slightly panicked "- is that your acting has gotten so good lately. I just know I'll have to work harder or you'll make me look bad. So I'd appreciate it if you would make a few fluffs every so often to even it all out."

Her nose wrinkles and she looks touched. "Thank you."

"And now you may embrace me. _Properly_." I throw my arms wide and wait with a pout on my lips.

Leaning forward, hands clasped behind her back, she closes her eyes and plants a 'My Girl' kiss on my, what she must have presumed to be, puckered-up-n-ready lips. It comes unexpectedly and gives me that lovely, indescribable rising feeling in my stomach. I clench my fists and try not to burst. It's the same sensation I get when I hear that amazing nineteen second note held on 'A Piece of Sky'. That rumbling joy. Yes, I know I sound like Rachel Berry when I use music to describe my feelings, but surely you get what I mean! I sigh inwardly. I'll admit it: Dianna is a little bit heavenly. If we'd attended the same preschool, it's her hand I would've wanted to hold. Not many people can bring about the same kind of physical joy that a song induces, or a crowd incites, or good news invites. You know what else? Logically, hanging around with her should make me feel _less _beautiful. Not so. Even in her shadow, she always makes me feel prettier than perhaps I am. I've never understood it. Maybe all that time she spent being genuinely confused about why I would get turned down for work based on my looks helped my self-confidence. If you ever want an honest opinion from someone, ask Dianna; she'll give it in such a way that it can never be taken as negative. She makes you not want to change anything about yourself in case she mourns the loss of it. She is a truly valuable friend to have. So no, I can never let on that I know about the maybe-crush she had on me. I can never tell her about the dream I had in case she worries that it's a subliminal freak-out reaction. I have to protect her from that.

Her arms slink around my waist as she steps forward to close the gap between us. Her chin rests on my shoulder and her fingers splay over my back. Leaning forward to return the hug, I wrap my arms around her and nestle in. My chin docks neatly into the nook between her neck and shirt collar. Steadily, she squeezes tighter and I inhale deeply. I'd like to lay claim to the fact that I made Dianna Agron smell even prettier than she did last year, and you don't need me to tell you that she smelled gorgeous even when she _was _a smoker. I have the desire for her to really squash me so hard that I can't move. Sometimes a plain old hug isn't enough; it needs to be a crash of bodies. I want to walk away feeling like she's left an impression on my skin that will tide me over until next time. I pull at back of her shirt; she reciprocates, then lets out a hot sigh that I can feel on my skin through my blouse. It seems suddenly strange to me that clothes are what make hugs non-sexual. Could you really hug a friend while both naked without it being even slightly arousing? I push up onto my toes and her hips push against mine through the thin fabric of her dress and the tight denim of my jeans. Her hands become fists and I love the intense pressure against my muscles. I'm not sure why I'm describing all of this, to be honest. I... just like it.

"We get puppies tomorrow," she says into my shoulder as she further compresses the air out of my lungs.

Filming Glee is extremely fun sometimes, and our first episode back has a lot of 'puppy work', which can never be a bad thing, right? I'm just gonna push my face up on all those baby dogs and let them walk over me. Dianna will be in her element. "It's an _extremely_ late eight am start in the morning -" I say semi-sarcastically (it's more often than not six am and so it _is _kinda late) "- and you're now on my route. Care for me to pick you up and we could go grab some breakfast and coffee or something?" I say softly as I rub her shoulder blades with the palms of my hands.

I'm kept waiting for a while before the answer comes, but that's okay because I'd quite happily stay in this position indefinitely. Her thumbs dig hard at my sides and send blissful jolts zipping through, well, everywhere. My ear is finally tickled with her reply. "That would've been lovely, thank you, but I'm not at home tonight. I'm out." I feel her raise her head and her eyelashes flutter against my temple while she considers expanding on the evening she'll be having. "Attending a concert. Then... maybe a Robert Florey marathon."

I don't know what or who that is. I'll look it up later. So she'll be out all night, huh? I don't feel like asking who with, but I'm guessing there's a 'sleepover' involved. A rush of cold chills my throat and forces me to swallow. My ear brushes against her cheek as I nod slowly. I feel her move out of my arms and step back and I'm forced to let go. She looks absolutely radiant. So happy and rosy-cheeked. She's moved on, and that's just great. I think I've done everything right when it comes to maintaining her friendship and, even if I have to miss out on some of her life, I'm really happy for her. I... yes, I'm really super happy for her. Honestly. Why wouldn't I be?


	14. Side By Side By Side

**Note:** Been a busy bee. Had a wedding to go to. Work. My wife and I celebrated our anniversary (4yr civil partnership & 10.5yrs together o_O woop). Other writing commitments. I know... excuses excuses. :) If it makes up for it, this was going to be two separate chapters.  
**To WonderousPlaceForAnEcho:** I'm 5'4"ish and my partner is 5'7"ish, so I know the curse of being picked up and swung about. Ribs are precious things! Btw I think Robert Florey is a bit weird, but that's exactly why I think DA would appreciate his work. :)  
**To Quinnessence:**I'm so glad I'm not the only one who does that! When I read a good fic, or even just a nicely composed sentence, something inside me goes *clang* and I lose my self-confidence for a while. I'm glad that, in your case, my writing also has the ability to rekindle the fire it previously put out. I usually end up reading old reviews to reassure myself. What do you do?

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Quote of the day: Alicia Silverstone - _"My boyfriend calls me 'princess', but I think of myself more along the lines of 'monkey' and 'retard'."_

What the... I'm being turned roughly and pressed up against the counter by Jon, who's about to toss a pinch of salt past my left ear. "Your food will burn," I laugh, but allow him to continue. It's like being sexually accosted, but without the sex or even arousal. I squirm.

"And you'll get bad luck if you don't let me do this," he scolds with a sweet smile.

Once he's done, I stick out my tongue and nudge him onto a stool. It's not that I'm not superstitious; it's just, for me, throwing salt over your shoulder seems a little messy, even if it is directed towards the kitchen sink. When you've worked in the theater, you tend to meet a lot of people who take superstition extremely seriously. It's not something I'd ever mock or dismiss. The more places you work, the more you pick up on it. In fact, there are so many superstitions relating to the theater, that I'm surprised I've survived so many productions without losing at least one limb. Backstage you'd never hear me say 'good luck'. The psychology of it is what can force you into harm's way. Regret or fear can bring you a state of mind that makes you ill at ease. That's what trips you. How many times have you been utterly confident about something, only to have someone pull the rug from under your feet with a 'Wow, you must be so scared of messing this up'? A 'good luck' could do that. I respect Jonathan's need to react to a salt spill, and I think it's wonderful that he wants to shield me from harm. It makes me feel all warm inside knowing I have this lovely protector. Combine my Jon and my Theo and you'd have the perfect man. I'm a very lucky girl to have them both.

Turning back to my preparations, I begin roughly chopping a handful of herbs. "Now -" I keep a straight face and toss it all into the pan "- in it all goes and we give it a little stir just to keep it all moving. Then, of course, we add a little white wine." I move the glass over the stove and swish a little into the rice, then bring the glass to my lips for a long sip. "Always be sure to keep your risotto _and _yourself from becoming dry," I joke with a giggle. "Add the remaining stock. Season to taste. Then simmer for another twenty minutes." He's smirking at me. "What?"

"You do this when no one is here, don't you?" He looks at me half-amused and half-disturbed, like he's found a piece of warm candy in his pocket.

"Hey, what's wrong with being prepared? You, jay-gro, won't look so clever when I'm cooking with Regis Philbin and you're at home in your sweats and socks eating chips out of a bowl."

"I cook!" he protests, pulling at the towel hanging around his neck to rub at his freshly-washed hair. He's staying with me until he's able to move into his new apartment. Both of us seem to live with one leg in LA and the other in New York. My favorite times are when we happen to be in the same place for an extended period. It saves my phone battery.

"But can you _TV _cook?" I ask. "That's the pivotal question here." I grin and wink at him. He reaches over to slap my ass and I get back to my stove. There's a bad husband-wife image here, but let's ignore that, shall we?

"So what, my dear Lea, have we yet to come on Glee this year?" He picks up my script from the side table and peers at my notes as if I'd written them in Chinese. "I hope you've been dropping a hideous number of hints about Jesse returning. Deathtrap was the best and British theater is truly inspiring, but we were all living off bar snacks and half-finished drinks." I guarantee that wasn't the case because I found lots of market receipts in his dressing room; he bought a lot of noodles, sandwiches, Diet Coke and apples. "I'm presently out of regular work and papa needs new shoes." He's fine for work. Ignore him.

"I'll get you shoes for your birthday. And who knows what's coming up on Glee." I raise my hands and give him a look of despair. "On the rare occasion they give us our scripts with a few days to spare, they then change their minds and mix it all up again. Everybody's on-off on-off. We all have relationship seasickness!"

"Well just remember that it's legally written into _all_ your contracts that the actor to take _each _of your characters' virginities shall always be the one and only Mr Jonathan Groff." I run over to slap him round the shoulder. Hard. "I am, after all, the most qualified," he adds anyway.

Like hundreds of performances _over_-qualified. I'm pretty sure Jon's manhandled my breasts more than any of my boyfriends ever have. I'm surprised I have any sensitivity left. But the joke is on him: Rachel's virginity will most likely be taken by an act_ress_. Clause exempt. Providing, that is, that Rachel wises up and realizes how much she loves Quinn (they're broken up right now). The thought of it gets me all excited. My fingers clench around the handle of a wooden spoon. It would be such a lovely, tender scene, right? I mean, like, wonderful. Okay, it's probably gonna be a kiss and fade to swaying grass (this is Fox, not Showtime) but it's a cute thought nevertheless. No romance for me in this next episode, 'Cliquety Click', though. Dianna and I will have to throw some forlorn looks across the choir room to make up for it. "They've got me break-dancing. Can you imagine? The only thing I'm gonna break... is my head." I poke myself in the temple with the aforementioned spoon.

"Surely Ms Lea isn't frightened of a little street dancing?" He raises an eyebrow at me and taps at his pursed, pink lips.

"Frightened? No! I've driven through Rome, remember: that's fear. No. I just think I'll look like a brain-damaged octopus." I can't help but smile. I'm quite happy play the fool, y'know. "At least, that's what it says in the script. Literally."

"Please, please, please say I can come on set to watch?" His eyes sparkle with devilish delight.

"To support and encourage me, right? To wipe my brow and care for me when I get bruises?" I flutter my eyelashes, bring my wrist to my forehead and lean back dramatically.

"Sure. Sure. Support and poultice application," he lies as he puts on his glasses and combs his fingers through his messy hair. I foresee him and everyone else rolling about with laughter, and it makes me happy to visualize it. The actual scene involves only myself, Naya, Harry and many of The LXD guys and gals, but I'm hoping some of the rest of our cast come along too. Fingers crossed for a good turn-out. The more people, the more I raise my game.

Jonathan is now deep in thought. His expression is alternating between frowny-faces and smiles as he reads through the episode. It's so quiet here. The hiss of steam. The flip of pages. I sit back on a stool and grab the stem of my wine glass. My heart sinks and my throat tightens. From this vantage point, I can see a chewed-up mouse toy under the couch. My bottom lip pushes forward, begging for tears. I miss my cats. Don't worry, they're not dead or lost. Claude got diabetes and I really wanted to keep them here, but often I'm out from, like, 5am to 9pm (sometimes well into the night) and I couldn't put the burden of giving injections onto my cat checker, Cora. So my babies both traveled Pet First Class across America to my parents' house, and that's where I'll see them from now on.

I feel horribly guilty, like a bad mother. I'm a spokesperson for PETA, for Christ's sake. However much I reassure myself that I had to keep them together, and they had to go where they'd receive the best attention, I still feel terrible. I've never beaten myself up so much over something. I cried my heart out for, like, three days over it. It still makes me break down if I think too much about it. Not even choosing between SA and Les Mis caused me so much emotional trauma. At least Dianna will be able to spend more than an hour in the house without her eyes going all puffy and her breathing going all wheezy. Small favors. Did you know that's why she moved out from our apartment all that time ago? Sad day. We'd still be roommates were it not for that. Why didn't we test her out first? It's so stupid. Then she chose to go because she didn't want me to lose the cats. Now I've just shipped them off like an inconvenience. I'm a horrible person. I shouldn't be making commitments I can't hold to, because I don't want these kinds of regrets. She said she understood, but I wonder what Dianna really thinks of me.

Jon snaps his fingers. "The food is making strange noises."

"Mm? Oh?" Blinking out of my trance, I tend to the cooking and put some music on.

"So when's the T-boy moving in?" Jon asks.

"Moving in?" I half-snort. "Is this something you've been discussing behind my back?"

He looks puzzled. "Didn't you talk months ago about him moving in once his Broadway run was over?"

"Oh, I was probably over-excited that day. You know me. I love having him around. I wouldn't be a very good girlfriend if I didn't, but I need my space. You know, breathing space. Besides... we're like a new couple; who wants to spoil that?" I check on the pan, then busy myself with a large knife and some Ezekiel bread.

"New? You've been dating since the beginning of time." Beginning of time? Hardly. Out of the corner of my eye I see him tip his head to one side and look at me curiously. Maybe I should be talking to Theo about moving in. I hadn't really thought about it lately. "Honey, is it because you're still secretly waiting on a proposal from me?" he semi-jokes. "I know I said I'd marry you if we were both single by the time we hit 2020, but you have him and so don't need to be thinking about that right now." He explains it to me like I'm four. Me understandy. Everyone wants to marry their gay BFF, right?

"Well that's exactly it!" I exclaim, running over to sit sideways on his lap like a ventriloquist's puppet. "I'm totally putting off Theo because I'm secretly hoping you'll de-gay and fall madly in love with me. I'm just biding my time." I tap his nose and he blinks reactively. He needs a haircut. I'll take him tomorrow.

"Yeah, shame it's not gonna happen, though. I could bring myself to cope with the woman-shapes -" his hand hovers over my boob and he pulls a face "- it's just the whole personality mess I couldn't deal with." I jump off him and hit his arm several times. Jesus, I've just noticed how much we play-hit each other. "Sorry, but that's the bitch of living, sweetheart." He looks at me seriously and lets out a long sigh. Then he smirks. Sardonic brat.

"You're the bitch of living," I tease. "Oh! Oh! Did I tell you about the Super Bowl?" My mind doesn't stay still for long. One day I'll catch up with my thoughts, but for now I'm like a dog chasing its tail.

He imitates my excited expression and embellishes it by raising his fists to his cheeks. "No! Tell!"

"Found out for sure today. I'll be singing America the Beautiful with the other kids. Isn't that awesome?"

He jumps to his feet and sweeps me off mine. Will this be my last moment of walking on air this month? "Extremely awesome. Especially if you're frontlining." It's now that he looks genuinely excited. I feel bad that I didn't phrase it differently. I don't like getting people's hopes up.

"Oh, well, no, Amber is. And she's gonna blow the stadium wide open. I'm so, so proud."

I slip through his arms to the floor and he looks at me like a squashed puppy. "Love Amber, but you know I'd want it to be you in the limelight."

Sweet boy. "My character is a little too lesbianic to be chosen for that. Maybe smaller stuff, yeah?"

"You're kidding me, right? I mean I know you've had hate letters, but that's no excuse." He's a little dumbstruck.

"Yeah, well, it's just an assumption. Though I get the feeling Sara Ramirez was also taken off the list for the same reason. The American public can be a little funny sometimes and the organizers just don't wanna cause trouble. And we both know that Sara _needs _to sing that song at the Super Bowl one day. It'll happen. Besides, they might not have thought my voice powerful enough." Sometimes my self-confidence drifts a little. Now is one of those times. I may, to the outside world, seem like I'm completely self-assured, but I'm not. Everyone has doubts.

I think he can see negative thoughts stomping through my mind and tearing up the place, so he grabs my hands. I need to take him for a mani too. "No. Definitely not," he says with undeniable sincerity and a squeeze of my fingers. "Hey. You wanna do something naughty?" My arms begin to jump as he bounces my palms on his.

I perk up. "Aww, my baby! You need me to go to a store and get you some porn because you're too embarrassed to go yourself?" Those negative thoughts have flown away and I'm happy again.

"Nope."

"Uhm. There's a boy you like who works behind the CVS counter, and you want me to seduce him and lure him to your newly-converted S&M dungeon?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Hardly. Try again. And why do you assume it's sex-related? It's not... but it is a night-time thing."

"Fine -" I throw up my hands "- but I'll only go drag king if you go drag queen."

"You make me laugh," he says, doing exactly that. "Can you really imagine me in drag? Or you for that matter?" Sure, I can imagine it; it's hilarious. He doesn't know it yet, but next Halloween I'm gonna make him wear a dress. Still chuckling at the mental image, he continues: "One night, when there's no late night filming going on, we should stay over at Paramount." I squint one eye at him and give my unimpressed face. "Come on, it's a tradition for us now!" he enthuses.

So twice is a tradition now? "Oh, I don't know, Jon. It's not like when we were at the Eugene; you can't just make a little hidey-hole using scotch tape and a blanket." And it's not like we haven't seen the studios at 3am anyway. I've seen that place around the clock. Working there gives me jet-lag sometimes (still love it).

"Come on. You know you want to spend the night in Rachel Berry's perfect little bed. "

I've already slept in that bed. Many of us have. (Is that a little creepy?) But that's beside the point. He flutters his eyelashes and flashes me a little hopeful smile. Even if I have been there after hours before, there's nothing like the feeling of walking around a place that is normally crammed with busy people. The notion has got that 'The Hideaways' thrill about it. That's an old movie, by the way, not a new band Dianna's discovered. The movie (or book) is otherwise known as 'From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler'. I have a very good memory, don'tcha know.

"Please?" he whispers.

My heart is beating extra fast and we haven't even done anything yet! I can't resist. "Okay. Lets."

* * *

Song of the day: Alanis Morissette - Torch - _"I miss your smell and your style and your pure abiding way. Miss your approach to life and your body in my bed. Miss your take on anything and the music you would play. Miss cracking up and wrestling. Our debriefs at end of day."_

"How did you rope me into this?" asks Dianna, looking wide-eyed and completely bemused, her hand clutching mine. It's 1am and we've finished late-night filming for the day. We ummed and ahhed about it for ages. Got to the car, looked up at the enormous double arch framed by a starlit sky, and decided we may as well go for it. Today, Dianna and Heather both turned up for my first outing as a b-girl, or whatever the female version of b-boy is. Jonathan spent most of the evening with the girls. They all behaved generally perverted towards each other while I worked my ass off. Somehow he managed to convince Dianna to accompany us on our little venture. Two of my favorite people all to myself. What more could I want? One's impossible, two is dreary, three is company, safe and cheery.

"Don't look my way for blame," I protest. There's a cold chill in the air tonight, the sun having long stopped warming the streets, but the buzz is keeping me going. I'm wide-awake and the night is spectacular. "It's all down to rubber butt over there." We hold our free hands up to shade our eyes from the bright, white lot lights. I feel like I'm watching a hovering UFO. Jon's shadowy figure slips towards us and away from the security building.

"Gay slurs, Lea?" he asks.

No! "No, I'm implying your butt is huge and rubbery like well-chewed bubblegum, and when you sit down you bounce."

"You made it that way by feeding me so much these past days. She's such a feeder, isn't she?" he talks over me to Dianna.

"The best sort." I'm not sure she knows the negative implication of feeder.

"So what did Security say?" I ask, poking Jon in the side between words.

He pouts. "He said he'd shoot us if we stepped past the line."

"And the real answer?" I push my hair behind my ear and turn my head to listen.

"No, that is what he said. I'm scared. Hold me." He grabs Dianna and squashes her into his chest. Her hand falls from mine. I give him my best unamused face. "Okay. Okay. He said to stop bothering him and that as long as we sign in, he doesn't give a profanity." I love how Jonathan sometimes sounds like a haughty, rich teenager. "So it will just have to be an evening of permitted romping." It's not like we could go anywhere but the Glee set anyway; it's the only one we know the access codes for. "Golf cart race anyone?" he asks.

"Yes! Oh yes!" Dianna jumps and softly pummels Jon's chest with her balled-up fists.

I'm looking forward to tonight.

* * *

We ended up in Rachel Berry's bed, tired from messing around. No, I didn't get all 'Rachel' about it and demand that's where we go. Could you imagine? I just happen to know where the main power switch for that set is, simple as. You haven't lived until you've seen Dianna tap her toe on a keyboard rug and sing the correct keys. Is there a more perfect definition of cute? You know, it doesn't matter how good we're being (boring?) or that we've no intent for mischief, it still feels naughty being here. Like when you're a kid and you wander into your parents' bedroom while they're outside. Maybe you wouldn't get told off, but there's always the chance, and that makes it exciting. Is that a little messed up? Well I don't think so. Jon and Dianna are sitting up in bed like a married couple. I'm lying on top of the bedspread at the foot of the bed under a yellow blanket, curled up and facing their way. Dianna is wearing Rachel's 'Twinkle Toes 02' sash. Jon is reading one of the books from the shelf. I feel like their kid. Or their dog. Don't suggest cat or I'll cry. This bed wasn't made for three. It's cosy, though, even despite the lack of a ceiling. Switching on the main overheads would make it look like daytime in here, and that's a little much. So we've just put on a few lamps in this Ikea wonderland. Right, I'm going to pretend to be asleep. Don't tell!

"Now you are April 30, yes?" Jon asks over the sound of the heavy compendium's spine creaking. "As an April 30 birth date -" Jon reads aloud "- da-da-da... here we are: will have a _very _loyal attitude toward your partner. How nice. However, you are -" page flip "- also fond of travel and regularly make changes to the way you live your life. Well that sounds like you." Fake sleeping is, like, the hardest thing, isn't it? I just want to smile all the time. My cheeks already ache from maintaining this serene expression. "You have a great empathy for those in pain, and show great concern for those less fortunate than yourself." Aww. It's so true of her.

After an extended period of silence, Dianna's whisper-light voice says: "Oh my, wow, that part is so me!" Damn, I want to see what paragraph she's tapping at. "That's so weird. Do Lea next."

He clears his throat. "August... 29. Okay. Here we go. The quality of personal strength is commonly associated with this Virgo birth date. However, rather than physical strength, this valuable attribute presents itself in the form of self-control and willpower." I'm having to use those qualities right now because I have an itch on my elbow. "Stubborn," he laughs. I will not react! If you wanna call that stubborn, then so be it.

"In regards to earth and nature," says Dianna, who has taken over reading, "you have an inherent interest, using your talents to grow and nurture plants, flowers and shrubs." I feel like she's talking to me and wonder if her eyes are on me. "Oh this part is a little dark." A pause. "On your path in life you will place particular emphasis on developing your personal uniqueness, _however_, take caution, for danger may lie in taking this to the extreme." I'll try not to, Dianna, I promise. She has the most lovely reading voice. I really could fall asleep here. "As you progress toward the unknowns of the future, you will come to find..."

* * *

"...rings." Jon's voice. Wha? Oops. I drifted off for a couple minutes there. Back to the pretending.

"This one Lea bought me aeons ago. Um. And this one I got in France," Dianna explains.

"What about the octopus one?" he asks, shuffling down the bed and almost kicking me in the head. At least, that's what it felt like. Fuck, I was gonna get her an octopus ring, one with the limb-things (tentacles? arms?) wrapping around the finger. I bite the inside of my cheek. Poop.

"My friend Kara bought me that," she replies breathily. "Pretty, isn't it? I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it." Damn you, Kara.

"And that's new," Jon says and Dianna giggles breathily. What? What's new? Jesus, my willpower is set to maximum. "Lift up your t-shirt," he requests. Huh?

"Okay," she concedes keenly and more shuffling proceeds. "I got it as part of my whole new look; the new... me." Honestly, what is it? This isn't funny. Why does she have to be partially naked? I'm getting strange, kinky visions here. "It didn't hurt too much."

Tattoo! How slow am I? "If you get one on the side of your buttock and dye your hair pink -" I can sense what Jon is going to say "- we could call you a My Little Pony." Her legs are far too slender for that. Could you imagine chunky hooves on Dianna? That's just sinister. "So, Di, how are you getting on with the whole sexuality situation? Has anyone been mean? Because if you ever get in strife, I can back you up. I mean, personally, I think it's disgusting, but as a completely heterosexual male, I feel like I should stand up and protect you." Haha, Jon.

She laughs girlishly. In my mind's eye I can see her hair swinging about her ears, her eyes sparkling as she flashes her pearly-whites (teeth, not tits, though given the t-shirt comment, who knows; I'm pretty sure she isn't wearing a bra tonight). "It's been fine. Everyone has been supportive. The media are just nicely bemused about it all. Quinn gets more hatemail than I do, but there's nothing I can do about the opinion of others except educate and wait. Or ignore and just look for the love."

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asks. She doesn't answer so she's probably just making a shy face. "Go on. I won't tell." No answer again. "It's why we dragged you here... so that you might spill the beans. And I promise, hand on heart, that I won't sell your story to E! news... as long as you don't out me as a straight man."

"There's honestly nothing to tell. I keep no secrets from my friends. I've had interest, but I'm just casually floating for now. Sure, maybe my boat will drift toward someone's shoreline one day... I don't want to rush into anything I might regret." Good girl! That's the attitude. I thought that Kara thing wouldn't happen. I mean, Dianna's free to do whatever she wants, but I just don't want her getting hurt. "I don't suffer heartbreak very well, and you have to be so careful who you let in these days." My poor girl. She'll get a super-strong squeeze from me later.

"Come on. Are you honestly telling me there's no guy or girl you've got your pretty eye on?" he asks, and I feel the bed wobble as someone sits up. Fidgits!

"Well..." Was that a titter from the blonde? "There is this one person I like, but I'm just making friends first." I need some water. My stomach is, uh, uncomfortably knotty. Well, fine. I don't know why I've got such a bad feeling about this chick, but I'll be there for Dianna, through thick and thin. I can't swallow properly. I guess I'm... jealous. I've always thought of myself as Dianna's closest girlfriend. The idea that there's a girl who is closer, who knows her more deeply than I do, kinda hurts me. How ugly is that? And so ridiculous. I mean, like, she's got Jenna, Naya, Marisa, and lots of other girlfriends. What makes me any better or more worthy than them? I'm a jerk for having these thoughts. I guess I miss her attention. It's not like Quinn and Rachel are filling in the gaps for me.

"Excellent. Well, when you've tied your boat to her jetty, we'll all have to have dinner."

"Him... this time," she utters unsurely. Him? This time? Who was the other time? I'm all confused now. Was it Kara? Why didn't she tell me? I'm so out of the loop. Doesn't she trust me? Wait, maybe it was me. Do I count? What am I even saying? Of course I don't fricken' count. Who do I think I am? The love of her life? I need to get my head out of that fairytale, because wanting your friend to continue crushing on you just for the flattery of it is just stupid, and a little sick. More than that; it's damaging. I feel like an impossibly bad friend. I just want them to stop talking about this stuff. Aren't they sleepy yet? The strain not to open my eyes is intense.

They're whispering. Suddenly, Jon says: "Do you think our itty bitty princess is dreaming?" If he tells her about the sex dream, I will have him neutered.

"She looks very cute all curled up like that," Dianna says softly, causing my heart to drop. I need to stop being affected by her kind comments. Hairs rise on the back of my neck as I sense I'm being looked at intently. I suppose you can't stop yourself from reacting to something. Does it make sense to avoid a touch because it invigorates you? It's harmless, surely. The covers shift, someone gets off and the mattress rocks like a boat on water. A delicate fingertip glides down my forehead, along my nose, over my lips and over and under my chin. The tickle is beautiful. I feel Dianna's hand slip over my shoulder. "Sleepy head," she says. It's a statement, not a name. I still don't want them to know I'm pretending; I'm a little too deep for that.

"She's definitely asleep?" Jon asks from further away.

I feel Dianna's hair slip over my cheek as I inhale the scent of her skin and shampoo. A physical lullaby. So soothing. "Le-a...?" she whispers with an almost sing-songy tone directly into my ear. Under the blanket, I find myself clenching my knees together to stop myself from moving. The thrill and excitement caused by her lack of awareness makes me all kinds of giddy. Emotion rises in my chest and my mouth really wants to respond, but my mind says no. Her voice is like a siren call that my body is desperate to reply to. I used to practice playing dead when I wanted to be a corpse on Grey's, and now I've got to put that skill to good use. My heart beats hard as I hold a breath. Pound. Pound. Pound. Like someone's locked inside my rib cage and trying to break my chest open with a large hammer. I feel itchy and hot. It's like I'm underwater. Drowning. The invisible closeness of her body to mine is strangely powerful. I feel like she's pushed up against me, but with an invisible barrier between us. I imagine that, if I opened my eyes right now, the tip of her nose would be a fraction from mine. Why can't she be asleep so that I could just curl up beside her for an all-nighter hug? Is that too much to ask? Oh, I'm gonna get found out for sure. I'm gonna giggle if she doesn't move away. Or squash me, she's welcome to just dive on top of me; I'd be good with that. Come on, Dianna, just come and lie on me so I have an excuse to cuddle in and wake up.

"Yes, definitely asleep," she says under her breath, her thumb pressing gently at my bottom lip while her hand cups my cheek and fingertips brush my earlobe. Yes! I have her fooled. I used to do this when my parents would check on me at night. I'd usually been awake listening to my CDs or reading, or imagining being in a historical movie drama (or comedy, or straight drama, or anything) with Colin Firth or Meryl Streep. Sounds a lot like me now, actually. My parents could never tell when I was faking either. Or at least they never said. Her hand remains on my face for a good minute. I can hear her breathing. It makes me want to snuggle in. I want to have her to myself so I can confess my anxieties over my guilt. Maybe Jon's gone to his namesake for a pee. Maybe I should wake now so Dianna and I can talk alone. Her hand is now on my hip, over the blanket of course. I'll just stay like this a little longer.

"Okay," Jon says under his breath, approaching from the right. Damn. "Di, lean back and I'll just get in there and -" I feel something press at my cheek, then curl down to the corner of my upper lip and gently drag towards the dip beneath my nose "- draw this mustache on."

What? I push his hand away, slap my palm over my lips and frantically sit up. "Whoa! No!" I say through my fingers as I jump off the bed and find a mirror. Everything seems really over-bright and my hair is all stuck up on one side. My eyes quickly adjust, and I squint at my reflection. Nothing. Just my face. Scoundrels! They either did it to prove I was awake, or to wake me. Ms Dianna and Mr Jonathan are sat up on the edge of the bed, holding their stomachs and laughing gleefully. Okay, they got me. I feel like a nanny who's been duped by two spoiled little kids. I glare like I'm really mad, but I love them both too much to not get why it's funny.

"Love you, gorgeous. Come here," Jon beckons. I go back and lie heavily across their knees. Still fake pouting. In the arms of two of my best friends, I feel safe, even if they do threaten me with facial embellishments. Dianna strokes her fingers through my hair to tidy me up. Who needs spa time? She gives me direct eye contact and I find my eyelids gently closing. I hope I don't talk in my sleep.


	15. You're Getting to Be a Habit with Me

**Note: **Hello! Here's a new chapter. I know what you're thinking... they crop up about as often as a picture of an Achele hug i.e. extremely infrequently... oh, one's just popped up on tumblr... weird. Anyway, achele cuddles aside, now that I've done my ep3, I've decided not to write any more episodes (which frankly are a bit of a mindfuck to write) so I'll have more free time for HA. Thank you for sticking with me. This chapter is set around early Feb 2011.

* * *

Book of the week: Tracy Chevalier - 'Remarkable Creatures' - _"We say very little, for we do not need to. We are silent together, each in her own world, knowing the other is just at her back."_

On the other end of the line, I can hear Dianna breathing ever so softly. Sweet little wordless whispers. I close my eyes and, as if I were holding a shell to my ear to hear the illusion of gently crashing waves, it transports me to another place. Peace. There's a soft clack as she grips her lollipop between her teeth and begins tapping away on her computer again. I imagine she's curled up on her couch, laptop balanced on her knees, lights low, maybe a pot of tea on the table to her side. Blanket? Candles? Burning oils? All of the above?

Almost as soon as it has begun, the typing stops, probably so she can grab the lollipop stick to allow for that deep inhalation I can now hear. An old habit means that she often relies on breathing through her mouth, hence removal of candy. It's so hard to unlearn that kind of thing, isn't it? Like if you'd spent all your days walking on your hands, and someone suggested walking on your feet. You'd be like: 'Ah, thanks but no thanks; the world would be the wrong way up, duh'.

She's a very delicate eater, and never stuffs her face with food. Remember what it's like eating when you have a head cold? That's how I imagine she felt for years when she first lived with her (long ago) fixed injury. My poor girl. Who's to bet she never complained about her discomfort?

The rapid typing starts again (wish I had those nimble skills). These days she breathes like this when she's concentrating. I do tend to notice when she's doing it. My ears prick up. Don't get me wrong, the sound is never offensive, never overly-apparent and never grating. If anything, it's sexy. Well they are, aren't they? Gasps and sighs, I mean. I take a deep breath and exhale as slowly as possible, listening to myself as sort of a test. Pranayama! Nice feeling, but I don't think it sounded particularly exciting. Dianna's gone silent, like, deathly silent: a held breath, no typing, oh wait... we're back to regular programming with a very quiet curse word.

Y'know, if you kiss Dianna for an extended period, you have to be careful not to suffocate her as her instinct to breathe nasally often doesn't kick in naturally. Death by smooch would be quite a way to go, no? But it's not my job to worry about that right now.

The sounds on her end of the line tickle and stimulate my brain like a crackle of static between my ears. I feel at home. Well I am _home_... and in bed, but I'm referring to that mental place called 'home', which can be found anywhere and anytime at the close of my eyes. Sleepy time. Holding my cheek with my free hand, I blink lazily and let my extended eyelashes brush and drag against my fingertips. Yawning, I snuggle into the covers.

I hear Dianna shift about and set something down. "Lea?" she whispers. We haven't said anything for a good while and she probably doesn't want to make me jump.

"Yeah?" Lazily, I stroke my bottom lip from left to right and back again. I feel very safe and comfortable with Dianna. We can be silent on a call; I just love knowing she's there on the other end. With most people I just talk and talk 'til the other person goes crazy and hangs up.

"Where are you up to in your film?" She hasn't even seen this movie, so this is just polite conversation.

I look over to the TV screen and catch up. I haven't been paying attention (it's not like I haven't seen it before). The sound is on mute, but I've left it running so that there's a flicker of movement in the room. "Uh, day twenty or something... she's being dragged outta bed."

"Are you scared still?" A hint of concern. A hint of mocking. A huge dollop of breathy gorgeousness that makes my eyes flutter shut. I smile like a four-year-old who's just received a Care Bear plushie and is currently deciding that it's going to sleep in her bed _forever_.

The kind of fear I had when I called Dianna wasn't movie-induced. No, I think it was the weird, eerie silence in the house and my stupid over-alertness. Yeah. Something like that. All work and no play makes Lea a dull girl. I kinda want to make my voice sound like Ghostface and say 'What's your favorite scary movie?' but I might actually freak her out. "I'm fine, thank you, my lovely." I bring my knees up and hug them over the sheets. Most people's logic would be to throw on their favorite funny movie. Not me: I go for scary. I guess I'm weird like that. I go for fear-replacement and top that with a phone call to my best friend. "Sorry for bothering you so late." I check the clock. A quarter after one. Jesus, that's rude of me. Honestly, what am I doing? Hm. I knew she was awake because she'd been tweeting at one of her friends. Is that a good enough excuse? Our body clocks are entirely wrecked this week anyhow. Show me dawn or show me dusk, I wouldn't know the difference. Dianna immediately responds that I shouldn't be sorry, and that she always adores hearing from me. I grab my cell and scroll through Twitter. She's stopped tweeting, but through the house phone I can still hear her typing messages to someone. Emails maybe. "Catching up on your correspondence?" I ask in a funny, senior citizen type voice (no idea where that came from). I'm all sleep-deprived 'n' delirious today.

She chuckles at me, then lets out a long, juddering sigh. "Chris is online. I can say goodbye to him."

"Hey, no!" I protest strongly. "After all, I was the one that interrupted you. I'm happy just listening." Ooh, I'm kinda creepy right now, don't you think? I've basically just said 'I wanna listen to your fingertips hit plastic while you respire'. She won't mind. She'll just be smiling. "Some days I wish you'd just move on in here and keep me company on these dark nights." Way to go on the uber weird outbursts. But it's true. I'd happily see her every day. As regularly as coffee or tea. I feel like we rarely see each other enough. Unless you count, like, nearly every waking hour. She's a distracted bunny at work, though. "Read any good books lately?" I ask. Now who's with the polite conversation? I amuse myself.

"Uhm, I've finished that Jonathan Tropper one, which was hilarious. It's in my trailer; you can have it. I think you'll like it." Dianna likes talking about books. It makes her eyes sparkle. She also likes talking music, especially if it's about new bands or musicians who are raw-sounding, or whose music carries an unusually heavy beat, or they're plain alternative, or they use natural sounds like the click of someone's fingers. Probably best not to mention Phil Collins, though. What else makes her happy? Ah. Animals and travel and, oh, uh, well... just talking to her makes her eyes sparkle. That's what I find, anyway. I love pushing her buttons to see her light up. "And I'm now on Kafka's 'Metamorphosis', which is strangely delightful." And by delightful, she doesn't mean that it's all rainbows and fairies, trust me. "Have you read it?"

"Nope," I reply, combing my fingers through my bangs to straighten them. I'm not at all ashamed of the fact that I'm not as well read as Dianna. I love hearing her enthusiasm for all sorts of literature. Her intelligence and flair for learning inspires me. "Tell me about it."

"Well, superficially, it's about a man waking one day to find he's transformed into something that his family find repulsive -" told you: no rainbows "- essentially an insect-like creature -" not a fairy, then "- and, well, I won't tell you everything, but the journey towards his demise is heart-breaking." I absolutely adore how Dianna can take a story of rejection and death and call it delightful. It just makes me want to... ugh, I don't know! I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder and squeeze my hands into fists. Outwardly, I'm silent. Inside, I'm squeaking with happiness. She just makes me feel so _damned _good. "But, through it all, his family come together and become a proper unit. Beneath it all it... well it seems to be more of a huge metaphor for waking up and finding that you've found a new faith or... or... and suddenly your life is turned upside down."

Unexpectedly, one of those cold, someone-just-walked-over-my-grave shivers runs down my spine. I clear my throat. "Is that what happened to you?"

"I woke up this morning looking like a bug?" she laughs. "Do you want to flip me over and squish me?" Bug-Dianna? No. Human-Dianna? Yeah, I could go for some squishage. Sounds fun. I like a playful wrestle.

I take a sip of water. The glass is icy cold on my hand. Dianna's laugh is infectious and makes me giggle through a gulp. Glass set down, I push my hand beneath my robe and lift up my top. So sleepy. I ripple my fingers over my ribcage to cool my bare skin before tracing lines up and down my side. "No. I mean you seem to have a new lease of life lately. To me, you just seem a little more, y'know, like... free? I don't know. You're all bright-eyed and beautiful and glowing and gloriously happy." I could go on. I've asked her continuously about how she's feeling. She never gives me proper answers. Always tiptoeing around truths. And I really do want her to answer this question, but at the same time I'm nervous. She's drifting away from me. In the past, I've had to battle to keep her close. Maybe she doesn't need me any more. Oh God, my vanity disturbs me. My throat is tightening with expectation and tears rise in my eyes. I should promise myself to be happy for her. I _am _happy for her, for fuck's sake. I'm so tired. "Which, of course, is good and wonderful and awesome," I add quickly. Not that I'd ever ignore my feelings, but if I get any freakier (or more self-obsessed), I'll get given my own reality show.

"I've an awful lot to be grateful for. For one, I have a new, oops -" she's dropped something and is muttering to herself "- friend here. He's gorgeous." Is it possible to hear a broad grin? Because I could swear I just did.

"Huh? He is, is he?" I blink rapidly and frown. It's past one in the morning and drifting towards two, remember, so whoever it is must be 'sleeping' over. What the hell have I disturbed? I didn't even know she was seeing someone. How long has she known this guy? Rarely am I lost for words, but at the moment my lips only want to purse as my jaw tenses. Frankly, I'm getting pissed at my possessiveness. Do I expect her to text in hourly updates on her life? '6pm - Cooked a wonderful meal and took a photo of a wilting flower that was just perfect. D.' '7pm - Had wild sex with new beau. Wrapped in sheets with the French doors swung wide. Fresh air lightly pulling at the drapes. Being in love makes me want to stay like this for forever. D.' Could you imagine? 'Midnight - Coitus interruptus due to you calling while...' Ugh, I'm not finishing _that _thought. This is real life, not Sex and the City; we may be the very best of friends, but I don't necessarily want to know when [insert whoever]... inserts whatever. You know? Blank my mind, please.

Oh, I do not think it's ew-some; I promise it's not that. Someone poke me in the arm and call me a jerk, please. I need constant reminders. Go all Pavlov on my ass and try to get me to associate thinking these random thoughts with something unpleasant so that I stop. I'm not like this with any other of my girlfriends. In fact Jenna can be all: 'Michael did da-da-da to me' (now you're wondering what da-da-da is, right? Not telling) and that's all fine: I give my opinion and there's no weirdness or impression of overshare. It's all good.

But, with Dianna, I don't know... she's more untouchable in that area and I don't often push (unintended double entendré!). For me, talking to Dianna about the intimacies of sex feels like asking her to crack open her soul and show me all her darkest secrets. Why is that? Sure she's a little shy, but I'm a little bold and, conventionally, I'd try to get her to come out of her shell. With anyone else, I'd want them to know that they can say absolutely anything to me, and I'll be totally relaxed about it. Maybe it's me and my treatment of her. Maybe I'm reluctant to know what goes on in her bedroom. Dianna's probably all 'so-and-so did this, that and the other to me the other night' to everyone else. No, I can't really imagine that. She might talk a few riddles and imply certain things, I guess, but surely nothing explicit. From our skirt-around-the-subject type of discussions about generalized sex, I've always read between the lines and come up with the same conclusion: she's very passionate... with the right person. I wonder if she's ever done it with a woman. Chris might know, I'll ask him... no I won't. Don't need to add 'gossiper' to my long list of stupid traits this week.

"Do you want to say hello?" she asks.

Umm, let me see... _no_! Let sleeping lovers lie, Di! I feel suddenly exasperated. Idgioh fidgiuck. "No!"

Shit, I don't think I'm gonna get a choice in the matter as I can hear the phone clunking around and, after ten seconds of footsteps, she says: "Wake up, baby, and say hello to Lea." What do I say? What do I say? Will he be naked? Wah. Suddenly there's... snarfling? Definite snarfling of the phone itself. It feels like someone's trying to eat my ear. Faintly, I can hear Dianna laughing. Then a cute, slightly feeble bark (not Dianna). I squeeze my eyes shut and bite the inside of my cheek to prevent laughter, the butt of the joke being me and my previous thoughts. The doggy noises drift away. "He says he loves you already," Dianna says sappily.

I'd better check. "That was a dog, right?"

"Well it wasn't a hippopotamus, Lea."

"No, of course, you only foster _those _during summertime," I joke. My pulse is jumping and I let out a ragged sigh. "Jesus, Dianna, I thought you were handing me over to one of your lovers."

"One of? How many do you think I have?" she exclaims loudly.

"I don't know! You could have ten in your bed, snoozing away." She'd turn anyone's head. I'm sure she's not short on offers, but who in this world is good enough for her? We're talking demi-god or goddess needed here. My laughter simmers down to a very uncomfortable silence. "What breed?" I ask distractedly.

She stumbles over her words. Perhaps I shouldn't have flipped from lovers back to dogs without prior warning. "He's... you remember that picture I showed you of Alex's dogs? He's a lot like the pale brown one, little smaller." That'll be a French Bulldog, then. Cute. I wanna hold the little guy. "It's the eyes that get me. And the innocence. I've had him the whole weekend and I love him so much already. I won't want to give him back." By the way, she said that in a cutesy-baby-voice and I heard scrabbling and 'arfing' from the pup. "Yes, I know! I know!"

"Sorry for keeping you, and now your little foster kid, up so late," I say genuinely as I rub at my cheek and listen to her light footsteps. I really shouldn't be fighting to stay awake when I called Dianna to help me go to sleep. I don't think I'll be tossing and turning any more tonight. Her job is done. I should let her go.

"I couldn't sleep anyway. I've been trying to learn our next scene and it was just... frustrating. My mind just keeps changing words and embellishing lines and I can't make it stick properly. Any advice for a girl in distress?"

"They won't mind you ad-libbing," I reassure. "Makes it more natural." Some of the best lines come that way; no discredit to our wonderful writers.

"Yes, well, the emotion I'm _attempting _to put in just makes me curse and slur like a drunkard." I hear her floomph down into a chair and she sort of lets out a strained 'mew' noise.

"Well I don't mind! Look, don't worry about it. We'll get through it." I find myself squeezing and stroking my own shoulder because I'm not there to comfort her. "When you're there with me, it will just come out the way it should. Like it always does."

The door to this bedroom opens suddenly and I jump out of my skin. "Fu...ck!" I yelp.

Theo is standing there in his shorts and t-shirt. He's rubbing his eyes like a little boy lost in a department store. "Are you coming back to bed yet?"

"Oh! Yeah. T-two minutes and I'm done," I say plainly and he wanders away. Pressing my lips together, I bring the phone back up to my ear and listen.

"Are you there?" Dianna murmurs.

"Mm?"

"If I'd known Theo was with you, I would have encouraged you to go to bed long ago!" It's not an admonishment or anything like that. She sounds like she feels guilty. My fault.

I swallow and screw my eyes up. "I was just in an odd mood and didn't feel like being around someone. I'm okay now, though. I'll go back in a minute. No biggie." But maybe it is. Maybe it is a big deal. I shouldn't be treating Theo like he's an annoyance. I haven't seen him in, y'know, weeks, and I should be all wrapped up and gooey-eyed. Some people say that when you're in a relationship you sometimes come to, like, a plateau, and that's where you need to start allowing the committed feelings to take over from the ones of initial excitement. Except I'm not feeling all that enthusiastic right now. Maybe I read too many self-help books. Theo's an amazing guy and I can see that love in his eyes, it's just...

"Lea?" Dianna whispers, waking me from my trance.

"Yeah?" I close my eyes and wait.

"Sweet dreams."

* * *

Song of the day: Various/Many/Me - Paper Moon - _"I never feel a thing is real when I'm away from you. Out of your embrace the world's a temporary parking place."_

"I can't bear this, Rachel. You are driving me _crazy_!" Dianna screams at me, her hands held tensely either side of her face. You gotta love Valentine's episodes for the angst.

"I'm not _doing _anything!" I throw back with a confused and slightly fearful frown. This is almost fun. I need to snap out of that, or I'll smile from the joy of acting.

"Yes, you _are_!" She starts listing things out on one hand. "You stood up for me. You came to my aid when I hurt myself. You -"

"It's called being a friend, Quinn."

She shakes her head then looks me in the eye. "You're _always_ seeking me out, brushing your hand against mine, singing ballad-relevant songs and making eye contact at every opportune moment. It's not my imagination! You're not as intense like that with _anyone _else." Not a single waver or blink; she's remarkable.

I pout sternly, let tears rise in my eyes, but hold back because Rachel doesn't cry yet. Edging forward, she matches my pacing and steps back. The stage lights are bright and hot. I begin to feel my heart boom in my chest rhythmically. Rachel wants Quinn, there's no doubt about that, but she's got a whole bundle of issues over her sexuality that she's not able to face just yet. I force her pain to the surface. "Quinn..." I reach out but she draws her arm away. Brad gave me a little back story to help me understand what Rachel's thinking. He said that when Rachel was a little kid her parents were verbally-attacked for being gay, and one of her dads had said something like: 'I hope our little Rachel never has to experience anything like that'. Naively, she still believes that her fathers would prefer her to be straight. "I can't help... how... how I look at you," I utter softly but audibly.

"Is this about your dreams? Because you should know that I would _never_ have stood in your way. I want out of here as much as you do. I _always _knew you were better than this crummy little town." She turns her head to the side and closes her eyes. So statuesque and full of grace. There's a serenity to the way Dianna makes Quinn brim with emotion. Balancing on the edge of losing control. Her cheeks flush with color. "When I was little I used to like playing tennis. You know why?"

A lump forms in my throat. "I -" Rambling Rachel isn't getting a word in edgewise on this one.

"Because I like to win, which I did... a lot." Her jaw tenses. "That is, until I met you. From that day on, every game I played became deuce, advantage, deuce, lose, lose, lose. And that's how it is with you. I can never win, can I? I never could."

"Perhaps -" my words stutter as they fall out of my mouth "- we're just not meant to be."

She turns suddenly and her eyes bore into me. "That's not _true_!" It's powerful and gut wrenching and I feel like I've fallen on hard ground with a thump. I literally jump from fright. "You are so blind, Rachel!"

"Anyone can see that we don't fit," I blurt as I let Rachel's thoughts rush through my head: a burble of speech about love and denial, about how pretty Quinn is and how it would never last. Or would it? Rachel may not be saying much for once, but she's thinking an awful lot. My eyelashes flutter as my mouth tries to form words I've written randomly in my head.

"We fit just fine. You're just too stubborn to see," she dismisses harshly.

"What do you want from me?" I find the question unnecessary, but it's in the script so I can't leave it out. There's a huge part of me that wants to just yelp back an 'Actually, I do love you, but it's not that easy' because Rachel's tired frustration burns like a bitch. Acting is thrilling, but there are times when we have to put so much energy in that it's entirely draining. How do I do this? I have to bring on my A game. Dianna looks at me like I should know the answer to my own question. "I assume you wish to resume our relationship, but Quinn, I really don't -"

"No, Rachel. That's not it." Dianna's words stop abruptly and she closes her eyes. "I'm sorry... can we go again? My throat just got a little... uh." They cut filming. I let out an extended sigh. I've been standing so rigidly that I'll need a neck massage after we're done. Someone rushes in to bring Dianna a cup of water. "Thank you." She looks at me briefly and under her breath says: "Fuck, sorry, Lea." Her hands are shaking.

I don't get a chance to reply because a voice behind me is already calling: "When you're ready, start from: 'No, Rachel'." We can't slip out of this mindset. Gotta stay in Rachel's head. For some reason being on stage helps. Here I can really let go, even if that does mean my excessively ugly crying face is broadcast across the globe.

Dianna nods all demure and lady-like, then resumes her position. We're back. "No, Rachel. That's not it. That's not it at _all_." Her voice is so full of emotion that she can barely breathe through her words. The barriers between okay and not okay are crumbling. One by one, tears roll prettily down her pale cheeks. Suddenly invading my space, she grabs my arm roughly. The sheet music I'm holding to my chest like a bullet-proof vest flops to the floor and pages scatters across the stage. We both duck down and get on our knees. Reaching left and right, we gather an unordered pile. Our hands randomly touch. "Stop helping," Dianna utters with an annoyed hiss.

"You can't stop me," I say, chancing a quick glance at her expression as I pass over a copy of 'Paper Moon'. I've been singing that song all afternoon; I must have subconsciously noticed it earlier. I keep looking at what I'm doing... oh, every piece of paper has the music and words for 'Paper Moon' on it. Photocopy after photocopy after photocopy. I'm not prepared when Dianna reaches beyond me and her body draws close. I've become rigid. Heat rises in my cheeks. Her body sags closer. I can smell the sweet scent of her hair. Reaching between us, I stroke a tear from her cheek. Torn. I have to play it torn. Should be easy enough, right? The script says Rachel believes she's doing the right thing, but I'm not sure I agree. "You're too pretty to be with a girl like me." It's sad. She doesn't believe that. Does she want Quinn to? Where's the fight? Where's Rachel's passion gone? It's crazy talk.

"Untrue," Dianna whispers so close to my ear that my head automatically tilts her way and I seek out the sound of her sighs that warm my cheek. I remember the stage direction: 'The girls get close and it's awkward'. I know what Rachel really wants. Kiss me, I demand silently. Kiss me. Kiss me now before it's too late. Kiss me and make me know that it's all I need in this world. Just fucking kiss me! Her slightly open mouth edges closer to mine. I could close that gap easily. The strain not to is incredible. I really want it... for our characters. In the bright light, I can see every differently-colored fleck in the irises of Dianna's eyes; the sleek line of each individual wet eyelash as it flutters before me; the gloss of her beautiful lips. My stomach seems to drop as she looks at my mouth. She's getting so close that I'm struggling to focus properly, but it needs to be like that for the cameras. Always closer than real life for the camera. A touchless encounter for the purpose of driving the audience insane. That's the drama. The almosts. An air kiss. "I can't," she says huskily and sorrowfully. A goodbye. "Because if this is love... I need out," she chokes. I'm reeling on behalf of Rachel. Love. Love. Love. The audience has heard Quinn admit that she loves Rachel, but this is the first Rachel has heard of it, and she's blown away. "You've got to set me free, Rachel. It _has _to be over." Dianna slinks away.

I'm ripped apart inside, but my expression is curious, frightened, excited. "You never said..." An end before a true beginning.

We get to our feet and instantly Dianna looks like she did before we started the scene. The haze is gone. It's as if she's just risen from a wonderful sleep. "Good night, Rachel." Formal. Cutting.

Passing back the sheet music, she leaves and I'm left with this hot ball of pain in my stomach. The air in my lungs won't move. I feel corseted. Nauseated. Trapped by the strength of emotion that Dianna has thrown at me. I'm finally allowed to let tears fall, which they do. Helpless. This is harder than I thought it would be. I've died on stage before, a lot, but this feels truly awful. My chin is shuddering and I can't swallow or breathe. In a strange way, I feel like Rachel and Quinn need their privacy to sort this out.

Almost out of sight, Dianna turns on her heel, looks back at me and ad libs: "Sweet dreams." An ironic addition considering what the next episode is about. Slightly curled over, I wait for the director to cut.

Finally, he does. Can I go and sleep yet? I'll need, like, twelve hours. Please? I need a hug. I need a kiss. I need my home. No? Apparently we're going again.


	16. A Little Fall of Rain

To Rioshix: S1/2 Quinn was a girl who tried to project what everyone expected. S3 Quinn is a girl who is trying to project everything nobody expected. Whatever mask she puts on, she's always crying underneath, and that's so sad to watch. I see that RIB have made her even more resentful and twisted. Interesting, really. I think Dianna looked fab all punked/skanked up (spanked? lol)... I'm quite saddened by the fact that we only got two pink hair eps. Boooo. Based on RIB's love of copying the actor's own lives, R and Q will presumably become friends (?) and, like Dianna of late, Quinn will start to find out more about who she really is (?). I hope! I would quite like to hang around with embittered, sexy Quinn.

To Cali: I couldn't remember when he popped up in real life! But yeah, why not. Hehe.

* * *

Role model of the day - Oprah Winfrey - _"Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you know you have for sure."_

"I can't even..." My mouth hangs open as I stare through the glass and into the live room beyond. Stupefied pretty much covers it.

"Oh, I know, I can't either," Chris replies without diverting his wide-eyed gaze. "I could eat this audible honey on my toast for breakfast." He sweeps an invisible jar through the air with his left hand and then twists the lid on with his right.

Together we continue to watch and listen to Amber belt out the song as if she were born for it. I hear a soft click as Darren pushes quietly through the door and sits down to my left. After a while of us all sitting here in awe of our friend, he leans in and whispers: "Wow. Just... wow. Humbled doesn't describe this feeling. She's extraordinary. I need to rub up against that talent more often."

"I _know_!" I yelp back enthusiastically, squeezing the closest knee of each boy sitting either side of me. "Right now who wants to date Amber?" I ask with a laugh. All our hands fly up. Both of them in the case of Chris. We're so lame. I love it. One of the sound guys turns and gives me a look that says: 'Shut up, crazy lady'. Oops. I quieten down as Amber prepares for her third take of the song. It's not like she can hear me. The sight of me bouncing off the sound-proof walls is probably distracting enough. Chris takes my hand. We have our very own personal Riley performance here. Amber gives me one of her megawatt smiles and I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be in this amazing position. If I weren't me right now, I'd want to jump into this life. Unbelievably special.

Chris turns to me suddenly. "Did you know Dianna was all excited because she thought Darren, you and I would be recording a Thom Yorke cover?"

"Oh crap, really?" I wince. "Same title?"

He nods. "You can't really get more dissimilar than Thom Yorke and Stephen Schwartz. You should have seen the look on her face when I broke the news." He cringes at the memory and combs his fingers through his coiffed hair.

I can't help but visualize Dianna's dejected pout, and an impression of it emerges on my own lips. "Well, we'll just have to cheer her up, won't we?" Fumbling around in my purse, I drag out my iPod and creep over to the control room's sound workstation. I smile apologetically at David. "Uhm. When you've got a rough track, would you mind..."

"Do I ever say no, Lea?" he asks, looking at me like a strict teacher who's just received his fourteenth polished apple of the day; he's glad, but in a 'we've been here a million times before and you don't have to ask' kind of way.

"Thanks." I chuckle as I semi-skip back to the bench-like couch and scooch between my boys. "Dianna will love it. I want to give her a sneak preview." I find myself staring at the floor, a little lost in my own thoughts. "Gotta keep that smile on her lips," I say, floating off into my thoughts. I might take it upon myself to give her a good 'ol tickle later. I'll be seeing a lot of her today, so it's my job to make her happy. This week is pretty much all Rachel scenes (as if I couldn't get any busier) but it's also the major stand-alone love story set within the series. Like 'Inception' - we're going deeper, baby! It's a dream to play (hint hint). We all get to dress up and act our own ages. I'll give you a clue: think Boardwalk Empire. A whole other Rachel is going to fall in love with a whole other Quinn, and it's going to be the most beautiful thing ever. The word 'amazing' drops quietly out of my mouth. I blink and look around to find Chris staring at me curiously. He sighs and uses his free hand to push strands of hair out of my eyes as I tap my knee to the beat of the song. "What?" I frown and smile all at once.

"Nothing," he says, but I can see a strange sort of sadness in his eyes, like someone's dropped a stone in those gentle, blue waters. Plop. Clearly, he wants to say something but is holding back.

"Chris?" I prod him in the thigh and make him squirm.

"Nothing!" He insists with a snicker.

Damn, I hate it when he does that! I'm all paranoid now. "Hate you." I pout at him like a child.

He pats me roughly on the head. "Hate you too." He smiles. "With all my heart."

%#%#%

* * *

Song of the day: Amber Riley - Set Fire to the Rain - _"Sometimes I wake up by the door. That heart you caught must be waiting for you. Even now when we're already over, I can't help myself from looking for you."_

A flash forward and a flashback all at once. The characters have grown up and gone back in time. Yeah, I know, but you know Glee, right? It doesn't have to make sense! I stand beside the doorway to the mock up of a 1930s little girl's room, tucked away and just out of sight. A soft, night-time glow lights the set. Hints of the era are scattered around: a vintage comforter swathes Beth's bed; a chalkboard is propped up against the wall; a worn doll's house and rocking horse sit by the fireplace; and a weird stuffed peacock toy-thing stands up on a bookshelf stacked with animal-shaped china. By the bedside, Dianna is sitting primly in her patterned print dress and buckled shoes. Her hair is gently curled and glossed. Red lipstick. A wedding ring on her finger. She looks like a mother to that child. No doubt. Even despite the fact that Beth has mousey brown hair.

Off to one side, cameras line up on their tracks, ready to pan over the scene of Quinn with her daughter. Dianna looks down upon the girl with joy and devotion. "Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker's Man," she whispers as they play a clapping game. "That I will, Master, as fast as I can; prick it and prick it, and mark it with an H, and there will be enough for _Hailey _and me." Dianna bites her bottom lip with happiness as she sees the delight in the little girl's gleaming eyes. Aww. She's keeping her entertained while they prepare the scene. I wonder if Hailey, who I think is about six, will remember this when she grows up. How long will it be before she can even watch herself on Glee?

There's something about being on television from a young age that affects you psychologically. You experience that weird situation when you can be just, like, doing your schoolwork curled up on the couch and you hear your own voice. Okay, maybe it's just a commercial voice-over saying: 'Only $9.99! Each sold separately', but it's an ego bouncer all right. For a second it makes you laugh, then it makes you proud, then lucky, then... a little weird. Your heart rushes with excitement and suddenly you're not thinking about your civil war studies or that assignment due, you just want to dream about who you might become and what you might get to do. After all, you're already on television. Already on stage. Already kinda known to a few of the right people. But only if you want it enough... I wanted it enough.

Dianna has begun the tucking-in process. And... ready, set, action. This is gonna be quite a lengthy scene. I listen intently. I think they've told Dianna just to wing it as I don't remember all these lines from the script. She speaks of Noah Puckerman who, in Rachel's bumped-on-the-head dream world (so much for not giving away the plot) is married to Quinn and owns a popular drinking joint and night spot. Typical Puck during prohibition! Anyway, Dianna goes on to talk of ambition and her desire to succeed. She spins some thinly-veiled story about how she wishes she could have given Beth a better life, her regrets about the past, and about how Noah, although a good man, never pushed her to higher places. But she would push Beth. She promises that. Everything is gonna be all right. The scene is very natural. Dianna makes a wonderful mom.

I hope they keep in every line. It's an extended episode, after all; surely they've room for this beautiful yet slightly tragic scene in full. Snuggling down, Beth requests that Quinn sing her a song to help her sleep. No Glee without music! With soft sigh and a pleased smile, Dianna draws up her ribcage and sucks her lips into her mouth to lightly moisten them. "Of course, sweetheart," she says, patiently waiting for the pre-recorded music to begin playing so she can sing along or mine or whatever she wants. Hush. Hush. I haven't heard it yet. Wait. It will be a nice surprise. The crew count her in as there's no backing to this track. No instrumental. 100% Dianna Agron. No added sweeteners or preservatives. 3. 2. 1. Her eyelashes flutter. "I was a little girl alone in my little world, who dreamed of a little home for me," she sings brightly as she strokes hair from the child's forehead. "I played pretend between the trees, and fed my house guests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green." I dip my head and smirk as I visualize baby Dianna doing just that.

I rub my nose with my index finger and tilt my ear toward the sound of Dianna's effortless voice as she drives through the chorus. The energy she forces into the word 'fly' makes my line of sight dart back up. Her voice cracks a touch. A breath stops short in my throat as I watch the words fall from her shapely mouth. Oh! I feel like I've suddenly got the flu or something. My smile has dropped. My head feels heavy and feverish. My lips are dry and my stomach feels like it's full of boiling water and lumps of ice. My chest swells and suddenly this belt around my waist feels impossibly tight.

I'm so proud of her. My internal trauma is soothed by her soft, breathy voice. I'm completely in this world now; happily dragged back eighty years to this time of the American depression. I place a lingering kiss on my own fingertips for no reason other than it feels nice. Now simmering down, I'm calmed by the 'oohs' that Dianna breathes melodically before beginning the last, and most poignant, verse.

The adorable little girl has fallen asleep, possibly even for real. So cute. Dianna rises from her chair and dims each of the lights. I watch her. Entranced by her beauty and grace. In awe. In love. Of course I'm a little bit in love with her. Who isn't? I blink rapidly and let out a long breath. Have I even been breathing this past minute? She walks toward the doorway beside where I'm standing, her singing descending to a whisper. Finally, she finishes on: "I had a dream." My cue for action. I flip around so that my back is flat against the wall and hide in the shadows so as not to be noticed. I frown and squeeze shut my eyes as the camera closes in on me. My throat is tight. My jaw is tense. Happy tears bubble up in my stinging eyes. There's a stubborn laugh somewhere in my lungs that needs to come out; it feels like a halfway-happened hiccup. Jeez, I describe everything like a child, don't I?

I feel confused. I feel wonderful. I kinda didn't do any acting in this scene. I really didn't. That's odd. I really forgot to do that. But it was so lovely. And... I watch Dianna disappear out of sight.

"Cut."

%#%#%

* * *

Movie of the day: Almost Famous - Dennis Hope - _"I didn't invent the rainy day, man. I just own the best umbrella."_

"Okay, girls, we're gonna split this into two segments." Joss shows us the script and quickly marks it out with a Sharpie. "Finish up there -" he underlines madly "- and we'll check it's all good before moving on so we don't have to come back to it later." He squints like a pirate as he scribbles on the page even more. "Okay, so we'll roll through this part, then do a couple do-overs for safety. Maybe you can give it a different slant each time, right?" We nod in unison as he waggles the pen in the air. "Uhm, I'm gonna go check with tech that the rain machines are ready. You want it ice cold or shall we go for the full freezer burn?" We both gawp at him. He laughs and tugs on his earring. "Kidding. It'll be like a nice, warm shower." His eyes scan down the page rapidly. "Now, uhm, for the kiss... my advice is to each pretend you're screwing in a light bulb with your lips." He chuckles but I'm taking him seriously because I think, joking aside, he's giving serious direction. "I don't mean literally. It's more... neither of you know quite how hard to push. You're both fragile. Transparent to each other for the first time. Your characters are both dismally unhappy in your marriages because you've had each other at the back of your minds for _aeons_. There's a lot of pain that comes with that. Trepidation. Fear. So it's got to be tender but firm, and maybe with a little undercurrent of resentment."

I nod enthusiastically. "Sure, that sounds incredible," I say.

Dianna swallows and nods silently. "Incredible," she echoes under her breath, looking a little in awe of our lovely director.

Joss is called away and we've got a moment to ourselves. I take Dianna by the hand and drag her over to our named chairs. I sit in hers; she sits in mine. Aren't we silly? Pulling out my iPod from a bag, I throw one of the ear buds her way and demand she plant it in her ear. "I guarantee you will love this." It's not being filmed at the same time, but Amber's solo - which she will perform later to a busy audience on the stage of the bar set - is being intercut with and played over our kiss, so it seems right that we should know what the audience will be hearing over the scene. Talk about lyrically appropriate!

Heads almost knocking at the temples, we listen and enjoy the song. "She's extraordinary," Dianna says looking super happy. She uses the heel of one of her low-heeled two-tone brogue pumps to gently bump my left high-heeled (leveling that height playing field a touch!) blue shoe. I reach over and tickle my way across her stomach (I said I would, didn't I?) Curling over to trap my arm around her waist, she giggles girlishly and her perfect teeth shine.

Still grinning, she bites the end of her tongue to stop herself laughing, and wrinkles her nose cutely. I reluctantly pull my arm back and she makes a little kitty pawing motion at me. She probably made a noise with the action, but I've got Amber in one ear and the crew dragging equipment about in the other. My stockinged knee touches hers and we both go still. Her steady gaze is off in the distance and she's nervously playing with her hands in that way she always does when she's distracted by thought.

"Your hair is so pretty like that," I say as the song ends.

"Oh, yours rivals mine _completely_." She looks me over as I sit up and do a little pose and pout. "Gorgeous. But thank you for the compliment. I do love this." She points at her own head. "I'm actually really loving this whole set. And a story we can really sink our teeth into!" She sweeps her hands over her lap and her skirt ripples under the touch. "You know how I love playing dress up," she says under her breath. Don't we all! "And it's so nice playing someone a touch more grown up."

"Totally," I agree chirpily. "Though I wouldn't exactly say I'm getting to be mature. Maybe I'll give that a go in the final scenes after, y'know..."

"Yeah -" she looks down "- of course, it will be wonderful. It's -" a sigh makes her body sag "- I don't know, the plot just has that movie-like structure and moody tonality to it. I think it's going to be remarkable. Might even be a little hard-hitting. Turn a few heads. Change a few opinions? Our character relationship isn't to everyone's favor, and that's a shame."

"Definitely." A seriousness takes me over as I wrap the cord around the iPod. "I'm really glad that I get to do this with you. Honestly I am. The whole story. Everything. I love working with you."

Her hand flies to her chest and she stumbles over her response, which finally comes out as: "Thank you!"

That startled response makes me think I don't tell her enough. Got to remember that. She's called away by Joss for some last minute suggestions so I give my reply to the empty chair: "My pleasure."

%#%#%

Rain cascades over my blinking eyelashes and down my cheeks. I'm slowly finding my sight, but I can already feel that Dianna is just a breath away. Shapes emerge. Her clothes are soaked and cling to her svelte yet clutchable body. Water collects and falls from the bottom lip of her partly open mouth. She's still breathing heavily after having chased me down this darkened alley.

A dim but warmly-colored streetlamp lights our... what did Dianna call it when I asked her earlier? Um... tryst. That's it! Y'know, I can't tell the tears from the rain. Am I crying? I... I am! Not actual tears at the moment, but crying with want for... that body? For this woman standing in front of me? My chest sinks down as I exhale more air than I actually have available in my lungs. My insides scream a little. With panic, I breathe in deeply and the sparkling, wet vapor almost chokes me. The falling water is warm, but I'm shivering. Majorly shivering. Shuddering. Dianna lifts my hand and, using the barest touch of one fingertip, she traces a clean line down my forearm to my elbow. It tingles and my heart and head start to pound that bit harder. Before I'm ready, she snatches hold of my upper arm. Despite the tight grip, I can feel that she's shaking too. I'm just gonna let this scene happen, absorb myself in the moment. It's the best thing to do. No over-analysis of technique. I'll just let go.

Through the pelting droplets, I can see her eyes; they look at me with undeniable love and lust; with wants, cravings, dreams and desires. She wants to gobble me up. I want to let her. Glancing over her lithe body, I notice how her wet collar bones glisten as water slides down the unbuttoned neck of her blouse. Below, the shape of her bra is just visible, and it makes me want to reach forward to grab at places that I really shouldn't. Earlier she looked soft and quietly inviting; now she looks like the very definition of hot and sexy. I'm still trying to let go.

Her expression changes as she suddenly sobs: "It's always been you." A door slams inside my chest. She sniffs and her chin quivers. She releases me and looks away, trying to wipe the rain and her visible emotion away with the back of her hand. I'm close to hyperventilating and am nowhere near prepared enough when she grasps my side. Nice little action there, Lady D. Do you use that on all the ladies? Palm hard against my ribs, her fingers begin to massage my taut muscles. Dress, what dress? No curve unclear. A tattoo of clothing. I might as well be naked.

This type of feeling, of pre-performance hesitation and excitement, is driving me crazy. Turmoil. Frenzy. Something. Someone throw me a dictionary because I just don't know the words to describe this. I don't want to hold back any longer. I'm fully-charged and ready. No time for nerves. No time to worry about her opinion of my kissing skills. No time for all these thoughts I'm having right now! This girl wants that girl. Simple as 1 + 2 = 3. I've done it before. No big deal. From what I've heard, it's pretty natural to want to kiss Dianna this much. Normal! Regular! So get to it, Lea. It's time. Stop with the stumbling.

Rising up on tip toes, I grab her by the cheeks and yank her mouth to mine. I feel powerful yet weak, like my body is barely managing to keep my blood pumping at the required rate. Within seconds, her hands have pushed around my waist and tease at my lower back. She hitches up the fabric of my dress and causes my newly exposed thighs to become doused by the rain that drips from the hem. Her lips glide smoothly against mine. Burning. I'm absolutely burning inside. That heat. That pressure. This sweetness. I let my fingers slip down her neck and then over her shoulders. I tug roughly, demanding more from her.

With a sudden thrusting hug, she forces her wet stomach against mine. Water pools where our chests meet and runs down our sides. We breathe in sync, pausing now and then for air. It's like swimming through rough waters. Invigorating. Enlivening. A battle of wills. She tastes so darned good: a little mint; a little lemon candy; a little Dianna. I can't help but push for more.

Rain. Rain. A roaring waterfall. A constant wash of cascading sound fills my ears, periodically pierced with her moans, my throaty groans, and the rub of fabric as we form an even tighter hold. Instinctively, my tongue lightly seeks hers. I can't help it! Her body tenses against me. Hope she didn't think that was weird. I need to stop doing that. I'm not fourteen anymore. This isn't quite like when I've kissed other girls... or boys, really. I know that sounds stupid, but I guess this is also a scene that doesn't happen in real life. So give me a break, yeah? I know what it's like to be madly in love, but this? This is different. Is it _really _possible to have this strength of emotion blossom over a simple kiss? No wonder television gives us an unfair expectation of love. This scene is designed to imply that these characters would die for one another. Maybe it's like this for everyone and I've just never fully let go before. One foot always on dry land. What's different this time? What changed? How do people make this happen? Why do I ask myself so many questions?

She tilts her head and suddenly I'm being paced backwards. Whoa. Tangoed up to the wall. God, this is so gonna get cut if she's not careful. What have her and Joss worked out? The fake bricks are no less real when you're hard up against them. No escape. I guess this is a very Quinn thing to do, not so much Dianna. I think. Maybe. No? Maybe. Her hands glide everywhere: my cheeks, my arms, my damp hair, my sides, but her lips never leave mine. She narrowly escapes my breasts and keeps us just afloat above PG-13. These characters should know what they want. Older. Wiser. Sexually experienced. Aware of what makes them tick. Is Rachel quite there yet? Does she _really _understand what her heart needs? I want Rachel to want Quinn. I want her to want her bad. It feels right.

Has the scene reached a classification of 'controversial' yet? Dianna grabs hard at my hips. Maybe now! There's no way they'll show this as a full shot! My goodness. I bet she doesn't even realize that her thumbs are digging tantalizingly at the elastic of my underwear. Who knew Dianna had it in her? I mean Quinn. Sorry. My head is slightly tipped back and the rain batting at my eyelids keeps them closed. I could sleep like this. Sleep in the comfort of this kiss. Wait. _God_! She's turning tables on me. Her tongue is pushing against mine. I'm forced to take a sharp breath because I feel like someone's forced a skewer through my navel. Holy shit. I'm not so smart the other way round, am I? I mean Rachel. Sorry. Oh, f... whatever. I don't care. I'm at her mercy. Amazing. If it weren't for the studio lights, crew, and Joss freaking Whedon staring at us, this would be... I don't know! What would it be? I gasp into her mouth again. What the hell would it be? I frown and struggle for a clear answer. I know. I know. Right? Sex. This would definitely lead to sex. Real sex. With thighs and hands and skin on skin. Of course, it wouldn't _actually _turn into sex because we wouldn't be kissing in the first place. Oh Jesus. I'm aching all over. Sick, dying, overwhelmed, drowning. Whatever it is, I feel a lot of it.

She pulls back. Sadness and frustration churn in my stomach. The crew turn down the rain to a light drizzle. I'm standing here vulnerable and breathing like I've run to the edge of the city and back. Feeling small. Dianna's heaven-sent eyes are glimmering; they seem to say so much, but I don't understand a word. I feel so dumb. What does it all mean? I should know her looks by now. "I love you," she splutters. Oh, that... I forgot. She's so alive as Quinn wanting Rachel. I love this fiery girl. She's a bomb just waiting to go off. Electrifying. Sometimes I wish I were a bit more like Rachel so that Dianna would like me better, y'know? In that up-against-the-wall way. Wait. What? Am I really thinking that? Am I insane? I mean she is amazing, there's no denying that, but I need to step away. Shut up. Shut up. Ugh. I could hit myself. Where's an Italian grandmother with a good throwing arm when you need one? This internal conversation is getting old.

Scripted words stop in my throat. I have to force them out. With a nod and a twitch of my cheek, I reply with... what's the word? Dianna would know. Aplomb? Sounds wrong. "I know." It's not Rachel's fault she sounds obnoxious. The writers seem to have a phobia of letting Rachel confess that she loves Quinn. Dianna beams at me and I feel like I've just discovered I have the ability to fly. I'm all enraptured and caught up in this golden moment. How is she still looking radiant? I probably look like a stiff corpse that's been dragged out of a lake.

I miss the feel of her already. Shamefully, I'm ready for more. I want her close and so grab her hands to bring them to my chest (my actual chest, not my boobs; this isn't SA, though right now a niggling curiosity makes me wish it were). I feel like I've got cotton candy lining my entire throat. "I'm taking your advice; I'm going to New York," I blurt clumsily. She looks down and rolls her fingertips over my knuckles. Even that touch makes extraordinary sensations build inside me once again. I've never been quite affected like this before. It's new. Strong. Everything seems to be pushing me into looking at Dianna in this sexual way, but that _can't _happen. I'm not naïve; I know that this is a real bodily response to a real touch. I also know that I can't lose her as a friend. Please don't ever take her away from me. "Come with me?" I whisper uncertainly. Tears form in my eyes again as Rachel waits for her answer. If I mess up our friendship, I'll hate myself forever.

"I thought you'd never ask." She grins.

Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. All these unadulterated dramatics have turned me into a goofball. Too wrapped up. Too taken over by some silly love story and a pretty face. Oh, the scene has ended. When did that happen? She's left me. The rain has stopped entirely and Telly is wrapping me in a large towel. Dianna has gone to the playback monitors and watches with a perplexed expression. Is she not happy? She catches me looking at her. I'll act like normal, y'know, grin widely, rub at my arms and make a 'brrr' noise through my lips. What a dork!

Are we doing a second take? I want the warm rainfall back. I think... I think I do. Do I? Should I feel bad about that? Priorities. "You want hot tea and lemon, Dianna?" I call out, noticing someone bringing drinks around. I don't want her to catch a chill. She gives me a broad smile and a thumbs up. I'm happy again. Looking after my friend, that's what is important here. That's something I can rely on.


	17. Don't Do Sadness

I can't believe how fast time passes! But I'm still here. Just been busy and distracted. Thank you for all your wonderful comments. They really give me a boost. I always spend ages telling myself that I can't write, then, when I finally get down to it, I'm usually fine. Very annoying. Silly brain.

* * *

Actress of awesome: Meryl Streep - _"Acting is not about being someone different; it's finding the similarity in what is apparently different, then finding myself in there."_

Occasionally, when I prepare for a scene, I try to take it back to basics: like... a caveman looking at an airplane, or an amnesiac learning to live in the world again. Strip away all the modern knowledge and beliefs we have, then really try to understand what the character might be going through. Forget what I've seen other actors do. Learn it for myself. Search for the raw truth at the heart of the matter. What does the event mean to the character? What is the weird feeling at the back of their throat? Do they feel sensations of excitement? Guilt? What flashes through their mind? Love? Loss? Does it make their heart hurt? Does it make their stomach turn? Does it make their nose tingle? Humans are fascinating. There is so much to learn. Why represent an amazing world in monochrome when we could go for technicolor? I always seek to dig deeper because the rewards are usually greater.

An actor can be a bit like one of those cold-reading psychics. First, we look at the plain facts about the character, then we make assumptions and predict their likely responses. If we choose their reactions right, it will look real. If we guess their instincts wrong, the audience will call us on it. I have this thing where I make up - and some may say this is silly - little foibles and facts about the people I play. For example: did you know that, after a bad experience with a caterpillar and a gumboot, Rachel Berry always checks her shoes for wiggly, multi-legged creatures? Well she does. Now you know. And unless the writers give me a line where Rachel says: 'I would never look at my shoe before I slip my foot in,' then I'm keeping it as a truth. I never tell the writers these things, because I know they'd write something into a script just to be mean and spiteful. They're asses like that.

For me, acting isn't just an opportunity to play at pretend; it's about experiencing situations that you might never come up against. A part of my adolescence was spent experiencing life growing up in the 19th century due to the plays I performed in. I love that! Actually, it was pretty much the majority of my teenage life. I have far too great a familiarity with lace-up scruffy boots and flats. So much so that when I finally got to wear high-heeled shoes and a girly dress on stage, it was a thrilling culture shock! Thank you Glee! Sometimes I think that I'm this happy-go-lucky girl simply because I encountered so much angst and trauma in the performances given during my formative years. Everyone needs an outlet, right? And what could be better than the theater, where you're not merely allowed to express your emotions, but pound them out and make them amplified and powerful.

Today I've got on my imaginary WWRBD bracelet, and I'm just super psyched and so excited for what we have going on for the final scenes of 'The Touchables'. (Catch the reference? I didn't!) Yes, we're still shooting the extra-long 1930s episode; and yes, we're still loving the sets and clothes! So... we don't know if what we're filming will get censored. It's definitely not gonna please everyone and might piss off a few dedicated viewers (especially parents who see the TV-14 warning and bitch anyway). The Philippines will probably cut us down to half the length! Such a shame. So, sure, there will be an influx of complaints, but ultimately it's not just a comedy; it's a drama too. Television needs to put its baby toe in dangerous waters once in a while. And _I _certainly want to! Our director is more than familiar with this territory, and he knows what the network will accept. Trust me, this is the only time you'll ever see something like this on Glee. It's gonna blow everyone's collective mind.

* * *

Eryn makes her finishing touches, leans back and observes her work. I get the seal of approval when she beams at me. That means I have been successfully prettified. "Okay, honey." She looks over my shoulder and calls: "Next victim, please."

I serve her a large smile with a healthy side order of enthusiastic thanks as I hop off the chair. Drifting sideways, I flop down onto Cory's lap, sitting side-saddle, as he admires his cop uniform in the mirror. "Hey there, hub," I say. Then, with an overly-dramatic move, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pout as if I'm gonna smooch him.

He wriggles, pretends to be annoyed and starts poking me in the sides. "I can do this all day," he teases, straight-faced. Ow. He's stuck his finger in my ear. That's it. His loss. I'm outta here.

"I'll get you later," I threaten. Forming gun shapes with my hands, I jump off him and fire off a few imaginary rounds. Again and again. Step. Step. Step. With each 'pow' he jolts back, clutches his chest and groans.

Whoa-oops. Hold up. I've crashed into something. My knees buckle and give way. I fall hard, sprawling backward across a chair... and a person. My legs kick right off the ground and, for a split second, I see the overhead lights. My stomach experiences rollercoaster zero-G before I rock back to a seated position. Cory, Lou, Adam and the whole make-up team are laughing and pointing. Jenna runs over and is soon joined by Kevin who, naturally, shouts out that much loved Glee kid word. Y'know, the one that begins with 'd' and scores pretty well on the Scrabble board. Oh God, that was almost a complete line lifted from the script of 'False Idols'. Uh, it's a one off. Promise. Kinda. Anyway, this time I'm not referring to the word 'dyke' like Rachel was.

A familiarly fruity and loud laugh tickles my ear. I turn to find that I'm using Dianna as a lazy boy. "Hey, there!" she says, struggling to breathe with my weight pressed heavily against her chest. "Did anyone get that on film or a phone? Anything?" she asks around keenly. "That was hysterical!" Her hands slide round my hips to grab my waist. "Lea, Lea. Lean back, lean back. Play dead." Cory now has his cell out and is lining up a shot. Dianna makes a fake oh-my-gosh face, complete with raised hand. I let my head drop back. My tongue lolls out because, artistically, it feels right. Ha. I'm totally comfortable with looking like a dork for the sake of a good bit of humor. I think that's an important quality? Right? I think everyone should be confident in looking dumb; you can't be a performer and not believe that. If the moment needs it: go there!

Lying like this is _not _actually that uncomfortable, but even so, I can't help but giggle from the strain of staying in one position. Cory complains at me for jiggling and 'making for the blurry', so Dianna starts to draw little comforting circles on my side. It's nice. With my head tipped back and mouth gawped open, I struggle to swallow.

I'm starting to feel a little vulnerable so I sit up and smile like a ventriloquist's dummy. Dianna seems to think this is extremely fun, and so slips her hand up the back of my thin jacket and grabs the clasp of my bra through my blouse. It causes a little twinge of delight in my belly. We're gonna pose for another photograph, so I quickly lick my lips and resume my wide-grinning pose. "Gottle of geer," she says through a clenched-teeth chuckle. This is cuckoo.

Finally, Cory shows us the picture. I can't help but exclaim how much it reminds me of my 5th grade yearbook photo (electric-shock-up-the-butt expression). Dianna looks like she's just fallen off the cover of Life magazine (even despite hair rollers). As we lean in to examine the screen, her hand slips down my back and accidentally touches exposed skin. Oh! One second. Two seconds. Still there. I can't think about anything but this sensation prickling just above the waistband of my skirt. My eyelashes flutter as I feel my body tense up. A tingle crawls up my spine and hits the back of my neck. I love my work. I love my friends. I love the fun and the laughter. But right now my entire focus is falling on that small, heat-inducing touch. It's real nice.

"Lea?" Dianna says softly, nudging her forehead against my shoulder.

"Huh?" I feel movement under me: she's joggling her thighs in an attempt to gently shuffle me off.

She shoots me a look. It's a little confused and a little... flirty? I'm not sure she can stop her eyes being flirty; it's ingrained. "You're being called to set."

Oh! My wide-range hearing tunes back in and I hear my name being called. So I am!

* * *

Song of the week: The Cranberries - Hollywood - _"The greatest irony of all, shoot the wall. It's not so glamorous at all, all, all, all... this is not Hollywood, like I understood."_

So... the basics: love and fear. What should Rachel _truly _be feeling at this very moment? Both? Yes. I think so. Both, all and more. All and everything.

"It's always been you," Dianna rasps quietly through a ragged breath. It's the same line she said in the alley before that beautiful, rain-drenched kiss. My heart clenches. I feel so totally overwhelmed by her aching look. Just... totally. She has an astonishing ability to just let you right in. So open. Like her mind is completely ready for you to make a home in it; the fire is lit, there's blankets and wine. Intensely inviting. Her gaze flickers as we try to hold the stare, but we both can't help looking from eye to eye. She wants to say something more, but can't; she won't let herself.

My bottom lip twitches of its own accord. My chest swells and compresses with short, uneasy breaths. I scan over her body, concerned for her comfort; worried about her on this cold, hard floor. I prop myself forward, over her, balancing on my knees and one hand, leaving my free hand to hover over her heart. I'm visibly shaking. This feels very real.

Rachel would be panicking right now. She doesn't know the rules here; she doesn't have the right experience. There is this unbelievable feeling of turmoil rumbling in the pit of my stomach. Am I making that happen? Is it happening because I'm in the moment? I have to hold onto it, learn from it and use it to produce a real reaction. A frown is locked in place on my forehead and is giving me a headache. What would I do if I were in this situation for real? To be honest, if I were, I would just... I'd flail. Or maybe I'd just die.

Her look is so desperate. But, there's nothing I can do to save her. Nothing to lose. Except her. My mouth is dry and air seems in short supply. Tears well. Quickly, I press Dianna's hand to her own chest as she bursts a second capsule to release another burble of dark-red fake blood. Oh God, it looks so wrong. Wide-eyed, I watch it soak in. With her other hand, she grabs at my side and tries to pull me closer. Or pull up, I can't tell. It's kinda like she's trying not to sink. Maybe that's what Dianna imagines dying feels like. Like slipping under water. My throat tightens. I feel fear, anger, and undeniable passion for this person. I feel the bite of injustice wallow in my stomach. It sickens me.

I look up at the circle of distressed faces. My fellow actors. My friends. I love them all so much. There's Cory, in blatant shock, standing frozen with the gun prop in his hand. Mark, visibly traumatized, holding his hand over the eyes of the little girl who plays Beth. Amber. Kevin. Jenna. Chris. And many more. "Why aren't any of you doing anything?" I cry out. I feel like I'm being strangled. Frantically, I look to Heather who is hugged in the arms of Naya. Apologetically, they look down at me and shake their heads solemnly.

The camera circles around me. Then again. And again. Simulating my descent into anguish. A moment of personal hell. I take a moment to squeeze shut my eyes. This dizziness needs to stop. Calm. Calm. I look back down at the barely moving body beneath me, then at the blood seeping between our clasped fingers. The first tears, borne of frustration, slide down my cheeks. It takes only a few seconds before I'm blubbering. Rachel's subconscious is trying to teach her a cruel lesson here. That's how they explained it in the script anyway. Will she learn? When she wakes, will she know never to let a girl like Quinn slip through her grasp?

The time comes for the acceptance of Quinn's fate, and for the realization that no doctor or surgeon could help her now; she needs a rabbi. I mean _priest_. But it's even too late for that. Unsteadily, I lean in. "Hush-a-bye," I choke out, sobbing into the crook of Dianna's neck and stroking her hair away from her forehead. Tenderly, I plant a sloppy, misplaced kiss on her jawline.

I can't not say something on behalf of Rachel, because she would say something! She couldn't _not_! I know I'm right. Anyone would. In the final hour, she would tell Quinn how she feels. Of course she would! I'm gonna. I don't care about the script. I don't care that it's just a dream; it's still real characters, real trauma. If it were me, I couldn't watch someone jump overboard without trying to grab hold of them and tell them what they mean to me. It's something I have to do. I place a kiss close to her ear and, hiding my face from camera and lowering my voice to a mic-inaudible whisper, I tell her that I've always, _always _loved her. I do it because it's right. And it does feel right.

Damn, my head hurts. Even my eye sockets are sore. Pulling back, I watch through blurred, watery vision as Dianna looks up at me. I strain not to crumple. I don't want the last thing she ever sees to be me upset, so I try for a smile. She projects back at me a flash of utter love; it seems to pierce me in the chest and makes me want to curl over. I watch as her eyelids flicker closed. My smile fades instantly. Is this it? Is she gone? I miss her so much already.

Under my hand her chest caves a little and halts its motion. I didn't know she was gonna do that and it frightens me. I lift my bloodied hand and watch as her arms fall heavily to her sides. So limp. So realistically and horrifyingly limp. I know it's only acting, but I could almost swear I could feel the life drift out of her. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible. I feel like I've swallowed a golf ball. Images of real situations where Dianna might die flash through my mind. Her twisted lifeless body haunts and taunts me. Go away. Go away.

I don't want her to be an empty shell. No. She is _so_ precious to me. Her life is so, so important. I don't think I could bear it if she died. Oh God. I drag my fingertips down her cheeks, trying to tap her awake, but she's still. So very still. And everyone is so quiet. I'm sniffing and smearing my arm across my lips and nose because there's nothing else I can do. What is the point in composure when your one true love is dead? It seems so much more appropriate to beat the ground with your fists or simply stare into space. Fight or flight. Hysteria or catatonia. In that moment, it doesn't matter what you do because _everything _has changed. Everything is lost. All your sensibilities fly out the window.

Something has broken inside me. The horses have bolted. The floodgates have crashed open. Bottle popped. I'm at that stage of crying where you simply can't stop. It's like a mechanical pump is controlling my breathing, and it's not doing its job well. Over and over it forces me to chug down more air that I don't want or need. My face feels like it's been pushed into a breaking wave. I literally can't see for tears. Even my chin is doing that twitchy thing that I can never do on command. My sinuses are stinging. My body is shuddering and my knees rub roughly against the firm, wooden floor. My ability to do this scene is completely _shot_. Damn, I wish that word would stop popping up in my vocabulary today.

Someone says my name. My own name. Then other people's real names. So I figure the scene is done for now. We get a break, but everyone has to stay glued to the spot so they can mark out our positions. I sense many pairs of eyes on me. Hands pat at my back then squeeze my shoulders. I can't hear properly. I think they're praising me. But I just can't stop crying. I need to get out of here. I _really _need to get out of here.

* * *

Sing-along song of the day: Barbra Streisand - Life on Mars - _"But her friend is nowhere to be seen, as she walks through her sunken dream, to the seat with the clearest view, and she's hooked to the silver screen."_

I am a hideous mess, but it's just me and Naya in here so I don't mind. Her arms are wrapped tight around me and she's rubbing my back _so _vigorously that you'd think she was trying to start a fire. Every so often I rock with a hiccup-like burst of sobbing. It's getting boring now, like suffering from continuous, well, y'know... like I said: hiccups. My ribs are aching and not in a good workout way, more like the discomfort you get with a case of the croup.

She's been trying to remind me of funny things to force away the blues, like the day she had to explain to her insurance company how she damaged her phone (game frustration, a window... a lot of swearing). Also... um, oh, yes... the time on tour when she accidentally flashed her naked chest at the crew, and so Kevin and Harry happily revealed their pretty asses to the group. (We have a great camaraderie, no?) What else? She told me she wants Rachel and Santana to have a mega cheesy moment and sing Chiquitita to each other. Aw. Love this girl.

"You were amazing!" she praises. "I don't even know how you got to that level. Just wow, Lea. Did you have to think about something really, really terrible? It was like you just went to pieces. Did you go to a really bad place? What did you imagine? How did you just break down like that?"

The stream of encouraging and enthusiastic questions continues to pour out of her mouth. Plunge me into darkness and shine a flashlight in my face, and it might feel like an interrogation. I laugh through the bouts of rolling emotion that make me feel like a broken wind-up frog. I try to let out a good sigh through the 'ribbits' of my lungs. "I... I'm not sure," I say as calmly as I can.

Her phone 'plings' and we break apart so she can unlock it. She reads and clucks her tongue. "Guess who this is..." she challenges. "'I've never seen so much water and gunk come out of someone's face. Is she PMSing?'"

"Har. Har." Actually, I might be hormonal, but he's still a cheeky SOB. I roll my eyes and smile. "Send back something snarky."

"That was weird, right?" She comments distractedly as she sits down to tap out the message. "The whole scene felt totally weird." Suddenly, she catches my eye and looks panicked. "I don't mean what _you _did!"

"I know." The headache is easing now. An amazing relief. "And, I agree -" my breath catches again "- it was, um, surreal." Shaking out my arms, I wander around her trailer to unstiffen my legs. I'm a big ball of tension. We thought the scene would be fun, exhilarating and enjoyable. But it just felt... draining.

"How _did _you do that, though?" she asks sincerely, looking at me like I'm the eighth wonder of the world. "It made my heart and stomach hurt. It was perfect."

I'm really, really happy that she thinks I pulled it off, but the sadness still brews and I can't be completely happy with my performance. Maybe it was too dramatic for TV. Too theatrical. Too 19th century. I'll know when I get to see the dailies. Hell, we've barely started the day; I might have to do that eight more times. It was only because Naya demanded that we take five that I got a chance to breathe. I clench my teeth hard and push at my eyes with my fingertips. My makeup is probably halfway across my face anyway, so I can chance ruining my mascara. "I just, like, thought about Rachel losing Quinn." My voice is hoarse. I hold my throat and Naya slings over a bottle of water.

She picks up her trilby (Santana's a hard-nosed reporter in this other-world episode), spins it on the end of her finger and props her feet up on her chiller. "Is that all? I mean, have you been saving up all your sorrows?" Her eyes go wide. "You'd tell me if you and Theo had broken up, wouldn't you? Did I miss something huge?"

"Muh?" I ask, sucking on my bottom lip and flapping my hand at my cheeks to cool them. Processing thoughts is still hard right now.

There's a dainty, rhythmic knock at the door. "Come in, Di," Naya shouts out. I think it's cute how she knew who it was. They must have a code worked out. Tap. Tap. Tu-tap. Tu-tap. I'll remember that and see if I can trick her one day.

Dianna opens up and steps in, grinning from ear to ear and looking very pleased with herself. "There you are! What happened? You both ran off and everyone was looking for you."

"Couldn't stop." Naya points at me.

I give them both a stiff, awkward smile. "Got stuck," I say without moving my lips. It was funny earlier but now I think it's just plain creepy. I'll stop. Dianna looks at me like I'm cute or something. I better go find a mirror. Mirror. Mirror... ahh there's one.

"Did it bring back an unwanted memory?" Dianna asks me inquisitively. In the reflection of the compact, I can see her sit down and snuggle into Naya's side. In her hands she has a cigarette pack that she's found. I watch intently as she turns it in continuous circles, pausing every so often to flip the lid back and forth.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I consider my response. "Not a memory, no." I've deal with death in my theater work, but this time I feel like I broke a real emotional barrier. I feel torn inside, like my heart has been shredded. Like a bundle of ribbons thrown to the wind, I feel it flutter inside my chest.

I turn to find them playing together. Naya pokes her finger through the bullet hole in Dianna's dress, causing Dianna to howl in fake distress and laugh like she's being tickled in the ribs. That's how I wanted to feel after that scene. I wanted to feel like I could joke around and leave it behind. The giggling dies down and Dianna's sense of duty kicks in. She jumps to her feet and paces over to me, momentarily glancing back as Naya calls to us that she's going out for a quick smoke. The door slams and I realize that my bottom lip has started wavering again.

Dianna looks at me with deep concern and dips her knees to make us the same height. "Will you be all right to continue?" I feel incredibly nervous; all alone with a ghost. My frame of mind is still in that place, no matter how much I'd rather be happy again. When I look back on today, I'll be reminded of what it's like to have a close friend die in your arms. If that feels bad, what must the real thing feel like? It's hitting home hard. Maybe it's a good lesson. "You were _spectacular_," she asserts. "Everyone is saying it." She raises an eyebrow and bites the side of her lip. "When I heard you crying like that, I just wanted to burst back to life. Then, when they finally called cut and allowed me to move, you were gone. I was worried."

"I'm fine. Really fine," I half-lie. This weird grief is something I'm forcing myself to be comfortable with. Build my own character, right? "You know me, I cry at everything." Though, admittedly, it's usually happy tears. I can't help staring at the deep red stain on her dress. The frown I'd fought so hard to get rid of flexes back onto my forehead as I take a gasping breath to stop myself from crying again.

"Lea!" Dianna exclaims, reaching out as if she wants to hug me. She can't, though; we have to be careful not to mess up continuity, and me walking back on set with a mirror image of her wound on my blouse wouldn't be well received. I shrug helplessly. She looks around, grabs my crumpled script and slaps it to her chest. "There." The action makes me chuckle and shake my head at her wonderful quirkiness. With no chance of transference, I lean in and give her a cuddle. She's warm and, even though she'll be back on that floor soon - and bringing a cold reminder of how short life is - I'll know she'll be here at the end of it all. It's a huge comfort. "Better?" she asks, stepping back and peeling off the pad of paper to examine the bloody print covering the episode details. She's looking for patterns and pictures in the smudge. Wincing, she hands me over the script. "Sorry." She's too pretty and cute and beautiful for words.

There's a battle going on inside my mind. I want to admit to Dianna that I had thought about losing her. I'd be lying to myself if I claimed anything else. The thought of her death was what had me ready to claw my heart from my chest. Nothing else. I know it's true. My eyes feel raw and itchy, and again the need to cry builds. "This is getting silly." I indicate my face. "I already look like I've been dug up."

Reaching over, Dianna uses her thumb to push a tear out of my eyelashes. I blink rapidly as her knuckles graze my cheek. "Bei mir bistu shein," she breathes.

_Jesus Christ. _Fingernails dragged roughly down my ribs; that's the only way I can describe the harsh but pleasurable pain that's come and gone in an instant. I'm so surprised by it that I physically straighten up, shiver and swallow hard. I try to smile but it comes uncertainly. How can she do that? With just a touch to the face and a few words she had caused an immensely strong reaction in me. God, that felt all right kinds of wrong.

Part of me wants to go back to monochrome. Black and white. Plain and simple. Stand still and unblur the lines. This is complicated. Incredibly so, because the other part of me, more than anything, wants to feel that sensation again, and it wants Dianna to be the one that causes it. I've been color-blind. This isn't a feeling I can dismiss. Not that I know what the hell to do about it. Basically, as the song goes, there's a moment you know... you're fucked. Well, here I am. Fuckedville. Population: me.


	18. On This Night of a Thousand Stars

Merry Christmas! This story is my only WiP now. Fkyeah! I can't tell you how happy I am to be posting.

To Jules (and those who resisted Google): 'Bei mir bistu shein' means 'To me, you're beautiful'. It's the title of a song originally written for a 1930s Yiddish musical, which has since been covered many times (often with different spellings, but the translation remains roughly the same). For a number of reasons, it just felt like something Dianna would say at that moment.  
To the anon who mentioned deconstruction: after re-reading through what I've written with your comment in mind, my answer is yes. When I imagine a character's reaction to an event, no matter how seemingly small it may be, I do try to start from scratch and let the scene evolve by itself based on likely character responses. Not sure how I'd classify that? Improv writing? Erm... or something a lot more geeky than that. *is a nerd*

* * *

Nostalgic book of the day: Dr Seuss - The Cat in the Hat - _"This mess is too big and too deep and too tall. We can't clean it up! We can't clean it up at all!"_

A walk in the park. Not the phrase; the activity. I'm standing here with a bag of doggy poop, looking around while Dianna, Jenna and Jenna's new friend, Pippa, talk about their childhood and cleaning up horse manure in exchange for rides on ponies. Harry is around here somewhere, but he got talking to a pretty girl, so I stole his baby, I mean dog, and ran off. It's not fair that everyone else has an animal and I'm completely unpupped. Oh, hello designated trashcan! Thank you! Finally!

I pick up the fluffy little guy and squish his pointy ears into my cheek. "Oh Charlie, you came and you brought me some poopy, but I put it away. Oh Charlie..." I should probably stop singing because a lady on a bench close by is looking at me like I need mental aid. I give her an uncomfortable yet cheery smile. Uhm, that song ('Mandy') wasn't _actually _about a dog, was it? That was just a joke they made up for the film 'Can't Hardly Wait', right? It must be. I can't visualize Barry Manilow kissing a dog. Except now I am. Whup, Charlie is out of my arms, on the ground and pulling the leash to its limit. He's romping off after another dog and, clearly, I'm along for the ride because I can't get to his collar to release the little dude.

Now where am I? I scan around the park. The girls and their dogs are way off in the distance and beckoning me over. I'll give them a moment more so they can move on from their horse-riding stories that make me feel a little uncomfortable. I wave back at them as I take a seat near a statue. It's a beautiful day. We're getting into Spring now, so everything is looking that bit more luscious and green. It's a little cold, but just nicely refreshing. Hey, here in Los Angeles we've got 13 degrees on New York this morning so, technically, this is warm. I hug my poncho around my waist for comfort and check my phone while Charlie runs in circles around my feet. Calling Harry, I leave a voice mail saying where I am and kick back. I look over at the girls: they've settled on the edge of a fountain. Three pretty maids all in a row.

Dianna's wearing the sweater I picked out for her when we were out shopping in Beverly Hills the other day. I makes me feel kinda proud. It looks like a real nice fit on her; snug in all the right places. She could wear anything well, including the bag they gave her to carry home her goods. Completing her current ensemble is a textured boyfriend cardigan, skinny black jeans, gray paddock boots and a canvas bag. Ever since she cut her hair, she's periodically been rockin' the slightly more boyish look. Still girly, though; always girly. Feminine moves and ways. Soft lines. God, she just looks completely gorgeous. Same as she does every day, night, morning, evening, hour, minute, heartbeat. That's some epic beauty right there. She's tipping her head back and laughing like there's no tomorrow. It makes me smile just to watch her. Normal human beings breathe oxygen; Ms Agron over there seems to breathe nitrous oxide.

Of course she's hooked straight onto this Pippa chick: all over her, grabbing her by the knees and bashing her forehead against her shoulder. She's not even hitting on this girl. This is standard behavior. Every person is just a joy for Dianna. Just look at her. Fascination seeps from her pores as she completely holds this new girl's gaze. She'll be asking her a hundred questions. Taking her number and getting all excited about any shared interests. Calling her sweet names and complimenting the hell outta her. I bite the inside of my cheek as a breeze tickles my ear. My eyelashes flutter as I watch Dianna lean over Pippa, practically in her lap like she's trying to absorb her through her skin. My eyes are glazing over because I'm focusing ridiculously hard on the scene playing out across the grass. Is it too early in the year for sunglasses? Never, right? Okay, they're now on, but my frown is here to stay. Shamefully, there's a lump of envy in my stomach the size of my clenched fist, and my throat is getting tighter by the second. I wish she'd just... I don't know what I wish.

Jesus, y'know, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm blatantly staring at Dianna, like, constantly. Not only that, but I'm thinking about her _all _the time. I don't mean visualizing us holding hands and prancing through blue cornflower fields, I mean proper self-analysis here. Persistent attempts at working out where my brain is at. I know there are places you shouldn't go. Close friends being one. Always a mistake. People you work with is another. Need I say more? And I'm not even talking about getting any kind of returned affection; I mean _me _becoming infatuated with _her_. It's a trap. The problem is, I've already stumbled across this deep, dark hole and got stuck halfway; it would be so easy to fall further. Fall into what, I don't quite know. Relationships between women are different, y'know, because we can kiss each other and be reasonably intimate, yet still call each other friends. Do that with a man and you've pretty much got to add 'with benefits' to that (unless they're totally gay). Go figure. So how, when you can get that close, can any woman know whether they're attracted to another woman?

I guess I could look at these three girls and try to compare my feelings. Here we go: Jenna. Damn, this feels silly. Okay, she's my friend and that's pretty much it. I love being around her and I enjoy her company. Simple. Okay, next. The new girl, Pippa. I hugged her once and she's sweet, so I don't really know what to say about her. Uh, she's cute but that's about it. I don't want to jump her. Does that answer the question okay? Then there's Dianna. Dianna. Di. D-girl. My lady. My girl. My beautiful girl. She makes me feel wordless and confused. And I'm rarely either of those things. My insides squirm as I chew on my bottom lip. I stare at her like she's one of those magic eye puzzles that were popular in the nineties. It doesn't matter how close or far away I am, how hard I look, or if I go cross-eyed; I can't see the answer through the messy haze of junk in my brain.

I'm incredibly biased towards her: my amazing on-screen ex-girlfriend. Before I even begin to load weights onto the plates of 'friendship' and 'more', my set of scales is tipped dramatically by prior experience of her kisses. How could I ever hope to regain a balance? I never _really _analysed my feelings for her before; never as hard as I have lately. What if our characters hadn't gotten together? Would I be having these thoughts? I wish I could strip all that away so to understand this situation better. I wish I could remove the memory of her lips on mine, but I can't. I try and I try, but it won't fade... because, secretly, I don't want it to.

Dianna's long sleeves flap around her hands as she gesticulates wildly at Jenna, pouting and stomping her feet on the floor. Almost tearful, I chuckle at her random, nonsensical behaviour. Jenna reaches over and tickles her in the ribs. I like doing that to Dianna. I like her reaction and her throaty chuckles. Swallowing the sensation of coldness that's circulating in my lungs, I try to ignore the fact that my heart feels like an icicle swaying on a clothes line: frozen solid, but threatening to crack and drop. It's not comfortable, but in an odd way it's strangely invigorating. I've never felt so... hold up, I'm bleeping. Text from Jon. I reply quickly. I need to see my boy as soon as possible.

When I look back up, Dianna is staring at me. Not motioning, calling or speaking. Not even smiling. Just really still, like her world has slowed right down. I've got Charlie dancing around my feet, and she's got Arthur slumped by hers. Everyone else seems to have disappeared. _'Just a moment longer,' _I project telepathically at her. Since I've already got the phone in my hand, I send her a quick message to tell her that I'm waiting for Harry to catch up. (A backup in case she can't actually read my thoughts.) A silent movie plays out before me as I see Dianna perk up when she hears her phone and dives for her bag; pulling it out, she reads and then looks back over at me. A little dejected. A little hopeful. Like a cat waiting for food. If she could reach out and paw at me, she would.

Behind the protection of my sunglasses, I close my eyes. But it's only a few seconds before blackness invites an unwanted visualization that has my stomach further tying itself in knots. Damn. Who knew this would be a whole lot easier with eyes open? Nightmare on Elm Street could teach me a lot. After all, dreams are where she _really _gets me. And she's got me a _whole _lot lately. A whole, whole lot, if you get my meaning. Ever since our intense scenes, I've just wanted to be stuck to Dianna like glue. She's been engaging my interest even more than usual. I feel so messed up right now. My story is anything but straight. It's like I've got a disorder or I've been hypnotized or cursed. I've opened some stupid door in my brain, a bunch of shit fell out and now I can't close it.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't want to lose Dianna as a friend. No. No. No. And it's not like she'd ever fall for me, anyway. I mean, sure, we're super close and she loves me, but she's, like, in love with everything: bugs, the sky, Arthur, rainfall, freaky stuff, everything and everyone. But attraction? Who knows what her type is when it comes to women. Was it that Kara girl? If it was, all I know is that she was incredible looking; all dominatrix-y and cool with perky tits and colored hair. Completely on the right level. Like a darker, parallel universe version of Dianna, but without one of those South Park 'evil' beards. Yeah, I know, I'm not funny. But, let's face it, Kara probably has a tattoo of Christopher Walken on her butt, and she probably had it done to impress Dianna. Bitch.

What was that? Forget Kara, _I'm _turning into the hugest bitch. I spent two hours last night on a call to Chris where I just got pissed about Dianna's new guy. I'm usually nice! This is insane. Of course it didn't help that Chris isn't a fan of him either, but then he always says that no man is ever good enough for any of us girls. He's such a pedestal pusher. My beautiful little sycophant. Ha. I love him. I need to get a life. I'm going home to New York soon to do some filming, and I'll get to my family and my pets. I'm hoping it will wash all this garbage away. I mean look at me. This isn't right. I'm looking at her now, watching her lean back to glance at the clouds and wondering what she feels like up close and naked. And for what reason? I can pass it off as curiosity, but in all honesty, I _like _thinking about it. Sicko. I _am _trying to work this out. Y'know, because she's a girl, and I've never been, like, super intimate, like, intimate-intimate with a woman. So, basically, do I want to _shtup _that hottie or not? Well? Do I?

"Hey!"

Fuck. "Hey!" I respond, surprised.

It's a girl and she's waving her hands in my face with her eyes about to pop. "Uh, are you..? You are, aren't you? I'm a _huge _fan."

I'm so embarrassed; I probably had a weird, perverted mess face on. "Gosh, thank you!" I jump to my feet so I can speak to her properly. We're about the same height, but I think she's, like, fifteen or something. "Have you been enjoying the show lately?" I ask. I do actually want to know. I'm very interested in and appreciative of the fans' opinions.

"_Sure_. Sure. It's awesome. So are you. Could you sign this?" She starts rooting around in the dark depths of her bag. "I love it. Will there be more Quinchel? Y'know, because... I mean I... I'm not a... I also like the other couples, but they've got epic tension, y'know, and -" she's talking faster than I do when I'm playing Rachel "- and, um, my cousin is with a girl and I, uh, it's just really cute and makes her happy to see it on TV. So will they get back together? You and Quinn, I mean. Will you?"

Crap. Not even I know the answer to this question. And, surprisingly, it's not one I get asked often. "Oh, well, honey, I -" she flaps open a magazine to a Glee group shot and hands me a sharpie "- I'm not even sure! Uhm, I think Rachel will be single for a while. I don't think she'll be kissing any of the guys either, so I won't have to worry about stubble rash for a few weeks." We laugh. Handing back her pen, I look down at the glossy page to find that I've signed my way across Dianna's ass. Slightly inappropriate. Oh well. The girl gets out her phone, we take a picture together and I do my best toothpaste commercial smile. She's really sweet and about as together as I am when I meet one of my idols. Actually, she's _more _capable than me. Skipping off merrily, she leaves me alone to untangle Charlie's leash from my boot buckle. Crouched down and staring at the ground, I can't help but wonder whether the writers will get Rachel and Quinn back together. The pressure from the network to not make the show too gay may keep us apart to make room for the boys to be together. I may never kiss Dianna again. And that's fine. That should be fine.

Suddenly, there are hands pinching at my waist. I get all excited. As I turn, I see Harry's grinning face. Oh well, I love him too, don't you know. Everybody gets a fair share of my love. Picking up Charlie, I plant him into his daddy's arms. I shouldn't feel the need to look for Dianna right now. I have my lovely friend here, so I'm just gonna talk to him. Not going to look toward that fountain. Nope. Not at all. No. Aww, Dianna's lying on her back and gazing at the sky. My heart.

God, I am becoming such a creepy fangirl. What next? Request a lock of her freaking hair? Leave the girl alone, Lea. For your own good. For everybody's good.

* * *

Movie of the week: Duckie - Pretty in Pink - _"May I admire you again today?"_

So here I am, staggering about like Godzilla with vertigo. These platform heels are ridiculous, but they are also ridiculously fabulous. Sparkles! Pretty won over pain, again. But I'm in a dress that doesn't show my ovaries when I cross my legs, so there's a bonus for everyone. I was offered a stupendous sea serpent type deal, but in the end I went for something different: still long, but black with a ribbon bodice, side split to the hip and one exposed shoulder. I'm a sucker for black designer dress. Well, I say that, but actually I found out that Dianna was gonna wear blue and I didn't want to clash. Wow, I feel really glamorous... and tall. I've only gained an inch or so on Dianna, though, because she's in four and a half inch heels. Damn her! What's a girl got to do? Commission Christian Louboutin to start a line of couture stilts?

I'm all sorts of giddy. Earlier, Charlize Theron said I looked pretty. Let me say that again. _Charlize Theron _said _I _looked pretty. Why is she even looking at me? Insane. If my ten-year-old self saw me now, she'd probably barf. Actually, correction, she'd say: 'Well of course you're at an Oscars after party! But you should have worn your bangs and not pinned them back. Don't you know anything? Duh.'

I've spent the last ten minutes sipping nonchalantly on a virgin cocktail, trying to get near Madonna in a cool 'Yeah, I'm totally good if I don't get to meet you' kind of way, despite knowing I might actually die. Oh, there's my guy! "Hey, baby." He slips his arm around my waist and I'm grateful for the additional physical support. He's so snuggly and nice. Beautiful aftershave. I plant several kisses on his cheek, and then wipe them away with my thumb.

"Hey, sweetie." Jon beams at me. Precious man. "Met Madonna yet?"

"Nope. I'm trying not to look like I'm waiting in line for Santa... or the president."

"I like how Santa comes to mind first." He smirks cutely. Drink in hand, he points at over at Dianna, who is grinning at Chris. "You didn't tell me that Di was a big I Love Lucy fan. Friend for life! She's promised me a pyjama party some time."

"I didn't?" With a shrug, I take a deep breath and wonder which one of her inner Fraggles Dianna's gonna choose today. Indecisive but extremely agreeable, bongo-playing Wembley mode? A more sedate Mokey? (Why do I still remember their names?) I look at her now contemplative expression and visualize the wheel of fortune in her mind cycling through exuberant, poetic, crazy... not a single negative quality on the list. Just all the things that make her an incredible human being. She catches my eye and then starts whispering into Chris' ear. Listening to her, but looking at me, Chris clamps a fist to his chest and mouths: 'We love you'. Giving my glass to Jon, I make a heart shape with my hands and direct it their way. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madonna glance over at me, smile and point while talking to Lola. Crazy days. Crazy amazing days.

* * *

'Please come in here and help me,' I text to Jon. This is _not _good. You know how when you're given something really expensive to look after, and you concentrate so hard on protecting it that you end up smashing it to pieces? Well, I just got my ponytail caught in my back zipper. Don't laugh! These hair extensions are long! I thought it'd be better to take the dress off to pee instead of hitching it up and risk creasing it. Bad idea. Really bad idea. Help.

His reply: 'Any other venue and I would, but here I'll get a reputation.'

No. No. No. 'Jon! If you love me, you'll get in here!'

'Dianna's already in there. Surely the reason girls go to the bathroom together is for moments of sartorial distress. Ask her to help you.'

Ass. 'No!'

'Why?' So texts the guy who is essentially my daily journal. Every night I feed my thoughts to him as if he were a personal diary. He knows why!

'You know why!' I send back.

He's not replying. Help, he's not replying. A reply! 'She won't bite.'

I guess it's not like I'm naked. Easing open the door, I hesitantly look out and say 'psst' at Dianna who is standing at the end of a long line of basins. She looks bemused, like she thinks she's hearing things, but then turns to see my desperate face. First shaking off excess water, then drying her hands, she trots over to me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm caught." I point over my shoulder. "Help," I whimper pathetically.

"Quick," she says, ushering me back into the stall, which, by the way, is gorgeously decorated, y'know, considering what it is. The door closes and she locks us in. "Turn around," she instructs under her breath. To any one listening in, this might sound like we've dived in here for a little nookie. That's a bit of a dumb thought because I wouldn't have assumed that if I'd forced Jon in here with me. No one is actually gonna think that Dianna and I are up against the stall door and doing it.

Is it just me, or is it hot in here? I hear her stifle a laugh as she examines my situation. "Oh, Lea, you poor thing." Her fingertips brush my back as she eases my hair free, strand by strand. So delicate and kind. I can sense the intensity of her look; it makes my vision wobble because I can't concentrate or focus. I want to press at my eyes, but I can't because I'm wearing more make-up than Ronald McDonald. Okay, exaggeration, but nevertheless this look doesn't need to get any smokier. All I can do is stand quietly and look at my hands, my phone, my little jewel-encrusted bag, the floor. She tugs the zip down and, inadvertently, I tremble and gasp.

I didn't want to be in this kind of situation with her until I'd worked out how to not feel affected by every little thing she does. I feel really awkward. Hmm, I should be making conversation while she works. "Thank you so, so much for coming to save me," I throw over my shoulder.

"That's why girls go to the bathroom in multiples." Has she got Jon on a live feed or something?

"So..." I kind of just want to stand here and have her give me the most ticklish massage in history, but I should make an effort and talk the talk. "Uhm, so how are things between you and whatshisname?"

"Lea," she scolds lightly, dragging her hands firmly down the length of my hair. The action makes my scalp tingle. My eyelids flutter shut. Her knuckles graze my spine. I swallow hard and frown. She's still quiet. So is that her final comment on the matter? No answer? No happy tales? What exactly did I say wrong? Apart from not saying her guy's name, which _was _a little rude of me, but come on, I was only kidding. "Wonderful night, isn't it?" she adds.

"Sure is." I'm not going to let her get away with it. "Will I ever get to meet him? Google is better acquainted than I am." My freed ponytail is tossed over my shoulder and fingertips drag over my skin. For a moment, her thumb digs at the nape of my neck. Oh God, that's nice. Do that again. I'm getting the silent treatment. I guess this isn't the time or the place.

"You're done," she says softly.

"Thank you _so _much," I repeat, turning on my heel to face her. Odd. Dianna's eyes are distant, a little vacant and tinged with brooding grays and sparkling golds. Holding her clutch under her arm, she twists a ring around her forefinger and rolls her front teeth over her bottom lip. All of a sudden, she lights up like someone's just flicked a switch on her. "Oh! Come with me to the booth. Please. Please. Please. Pretty please with cherries and sugar dust on top."

"Uh." Insert giggle here. "Okay. Yes." No one says no to Dianna. Opening the door, she steps out and expects me to follow. "I need to, y'know..." I indicate behind me.

"I thought you already..." She twirls her finger in my direction and raises her eyebrows at me. Then she just laughs. "I get it now! You were _un_dressing when it happened."

Yeah. Who knew that was even possible? I have very special skills. "I'll see you in two minutes, y'know, when I do it again."

Her eyes dart. "Do you need a hand? I mean... I could help take your dress off. If... if you need me to."

I wrinkle my nose. "I'm good, thanks." Okay, sometimes it's necessary to say no to Dianna.

"The guys have it so easy, huh?" Oh shit. Sandra Bullock. She looks fierce. "Next year I'm requesting a urostomy pouch instead of a purse." She's awesome. Must refrain from falling at her feet. I am so in awe of everyone here. Uh, did she just wink at me? Life is so weird and epic.

* * *

In the interests of clarification, it was booth as in _photo _booth. Yes, we've had the friendly fight over who gets to sit on whom. Nobody won; we chose side by side. We're crushed together to get in frame. Cheeks smooshed. Temples knocking. We've done kissy faces, angry faces and thinking faces. Tonight feels like a dream. I'm just so overwhelmingly happy and joyful. Maybe this is what I needed. I've been running on empty for a while, and I just needed a release. A little fun.

The black drape swishes back and forth as people wander around outside. Flashbulbs crack. People talk and laugh. All that sort of blurs into a pleasant hum of background noise against Dianna's softly spoken countdown. "Three. Two. One." Big smiles. Say (non-dairy) cheese! Aww, that's a good one. One for the wallet. "Now gangsta style," she instructs, putting her arm around me and pushing her elbows out to the sides.

"I'm so down with that, homie." I imitate her pose, look pouty and pissed and add a couple hand gestures. Blat blat. Freeze. Ha, hilarious.

Last one! Playfully, Dianna puts her left hand on top of my left, and her right on top of my right. With a squeeze, she presses her fingers between mine. Perfectly interlocked. Still laughing, she nuzzles into me. Her eyelashes sweep across my ear and make me squirm with delight. Pulling me closer, my bare shoulder blade slides against her collar bone. Through a chuckle, I feel her kiss my hair. Blood rushes through my ears. Swaying in her arms, I start to feel a little woozy. I get a little too comfortable and let my head loll forward a little. Eyes closed, I let her control how we sit. She crosses our arms over my stomach and splays my hands over my waist.

In the past, I would have turned and smudged a sweet kiss across her lips in a jokey, silly way. I can't do that now. It feels like it would be too romantic. Too much like cheating. My knuckles tense against hers as my stomach churns. I need to get away and find Jon. Regress to a place where I knew exactly who I was and what wanted. I concentrate on the idea of him taking me home, running me a bath and scrubbing my back; on getting in bed to watch Jonathan Taylor Thomas run around in little swim shorts in 'Common Ground' and fall asleep, secure in Jon's arms. A forever love without any bitter consequence.

I don't feel safe here with her; I'm going to make an idiot of myself. It's not her fault that she's this magical mistress who has the ability to make my eyes roll in my head, just by breathing against my skin. My dress slips and exposes my left leg. A pulse races in a place it really shouldn't as my thigh rubs at the delicate chiffon of her dress. Untangling our hands, she reaches forward, but she doesn't grab my knee like I expect; no, she's bending us over so that she can reverently cover me up. My heart sinks with the heaviness of this love.

Sitting back, she catches my eye. On this night of a thousand stars, I see only one. She has that same distant look as before. The arm around my back begins to slip away, but stops to hold me by the rib cage. Deftly, she leans in and kisses me. Not on the mouth. Not on the nose. Just a fraction to the left of my lips. It lasts for a few seconds only. I never dreamed that a kiss could be as sweet as this. With her fingertip, she smooths away the imprint on my cheek, but I can still feel its presence, like a burn that's yet to show.

"It's printed!" Chris calls to us, thrusting his hand and then his little face through a gap in the drape. He disappears again. "You both look insane," he muses to himself. "What the hell are you doing in the last one? The Heimlich maneuver?"

I look down to my right and stare at Dianna's hand pressing at my side, teasing the fabric with her fingers. Tipping my head back against her shoulder, I close my eyes. I'm at the bottom of a very dark hole. Well and truly fallen. Question is, what the hell do I do about it?


	19. Been A Long Day

To RaichuBerry: Sometimes I don't post for ages because I get really daunted about posting. Mewp. That and the fact that when I'm at home, I'm like a bee in a flowerbed. I need to sit at my laptop and get my brain in gear more often.  
To Erise: I'm so used to writing mysteries/thrillers that suspense seems to work its way in by accident. I've _tried_ to hold back from doing cliffhangers, though they do slip in sometimes. ;)  
To AnonymousUKreader: I think their big love of everything is a huge barrier. How is either of them ever to know exactly how serious the other one is, when an 'I love you' so easily slips past their lips twenty times a day? And that's not just to each other, but to everyone. Loving the analysis. York Notes! Awesome. Hehe.  
To CeciltheGleek and Carol aka-neko: Yep, I'm afraid Theo is still Lea's boyfriend at this point in the story.  
To roxymatix: Soon. It will happen. Promise.

Right, I know, I know. I need to get a shift on with these because I understand there's a tenterhook situation here. Onward. Erk.

* * *

Best advice ever: Benjamin Franklin - _"When in doubt, don't."_

In any regular situation, attraction is easy: you gaze, you flirt, and you just know. Then there are those scenarios in which you encounter those people who aren't easily found in the box neatly labeled 'My Type': you gaze, you kinda flirt, and you just _don't _know. Hell, lately I've mostly dated whomever Jon set me up with, anyway. But, before that, I got given a piece of advice. It goes like this: should you ever be unsure of whether you are 'into' someone... wait for it... imagine giving them an orgasm. I know! I know! Hear me out. I know it sounds wrong, sounds dumb, but you have to admit that it kind of makes sense.

Point is, if visualizing that person shuddering with joy makes you cringe or feel weird, it may not be a great match. But if you let your mind wander to an image of their fluttering eyelashes and rapid pants for breath, and it makes you feel, I don't know, uh, raunchy, then chances are you want them in your bed. Now, you're not allowed to think about them touching you; this is an entirely one way thing. Don't break the rules. It's all about them. None for you. Years ago Jon and I turned it into a between acts game to play; yes, because we're strange like that. It was a twist on a shoot/screw/marry challenge, except without the killing part. One of us would suggest a person for the other to visualize. I name no names. I guess you could really fuck with someone's head that way, but we never took it seriously.

Okay, a warning! The advice comes with its own small print: for the love of God, don't do this for everyone you meet, or it's all you'll see when you talk to them, and don't do it with someone you like unless you _really_ want to find out. And I mean _really_, because, way back when, I tried it out on someone I thought I had a crush on. Turns out I didn't. Turns out I didn't want to make them happy that way. Turns out it made me feel creepy. Carry this out as a last resort, like, utterly last. Like, I'm not sure I want to risk it with Dianna. It's enough being cursed with memories of a few random sex dreams. Need I intrude on her privacy any further?

I don't know how else to work it out, though; it's the best card I have up my sleeve. I'm the only one who can decide how I feel about her. Despite his best efforts, Jon can't help me. It's not like I could go to Dianna. And no, I'm not calling my mom on this one. I keep finding myself looking through my scripts for answers, but not even Rachel is all that sure of her feelings for Quinn. No one is writing my words for me. I am all alone in this, scrabbling through old pieces of my life for an indication of what my feelings for Dianna should be. I hope the answers come before time, because my mind is cracking under the weight of this Damoclean burden. Jesus, I'm starting to sound like her now.

* * *

Best quote in a text from Jon: Janis - Mean Girls - _"You've truly out-gayed yourself."_

Effortlessly, Dianna skips and whirls around the room. I watch her fly like a leaf caught in a breeze. How can one human being be so many things? Graceful. Beautiful. Vibrant. One in a million. Billion. Trillion. Even in sweats, a shabby rock t-shirt and her hair carelessly pulled back into a teeny, tiny ponytail. Mind blowing. She's completely in her element and so excited. No, she's not always the most careful of movers, but she carries out every step with exuberance and delight. I widen my eyes as she runs at me and then dives out of the way at the last second. Crazy girl. This is a break. She's supposed to be re-hydrating and relaxing, but no, not Dianna.

We're filming Regionals this week. 'Regional Dysfunction', to be more precise, and before the big showdown competition scenes, there's this: a triple dance sequence to be rehearsed and recorded. Jessalyn, Amber and I have recorded the vocals for the mash-up. For the most part, each couple will be in separate locations: Rachel and Quinn in the ballet room; Mercedes and Sam in the auditorium; Terri and Will in the choir room. The rehearsals are happening together, because we've all got to try and sync up to make editing easier. It's all a fantasy of course; one of those songs where we project an internalized desire.

I'm sweating like a gross pig, and look a complete mess. I'm usually pretty good with dance rehearsals, but this is draining for an altogether different reason. I finish my water, and go back to watching Dianna. She's spinning around the room in Chord's arms and making me dizzy. My throat bobs as I find myself wanting to step forward and object. I try to laugh at the situation. I'm cranky. I try to look away, but the mirror is there, reflecting the same scene. I can't stop myself and jump up with a broad smile stuck to my face. Too late. Our break is over. She's mine now anyhow. All mine. Wish me luck.

* * *

Supporting my back, she dips me at an excruciatingly slow pace. The toe of my right shoe scrapes along the well-polished floor, and my left leg extends towards the mirror. My back is pressed hard against her thigh, ever harder as she pulls my body towards her. I let her take my weight even more completely. Every twitch of her tight, straining muscles pulses against me. My head is going fuzzy and tingly. Concentrating hard on the ceiling and, ultimately, on the wall behind me, I crane my neck further. Closing my eyes, I wait patiently as Zach guides the 'guys' on how to maintain the hold. I try to be light for her. I can do this.

Swinging me back to standing, Dianna tugs me round to face her and breathlessly requests: "Elevé." I'm so thoroughly hypnotized, I'd do anything she told me to. As instructed, I rise to tiptoes and stretch my calf muscles to their limit. Tenderly, she slides her hand from my waist and to the underside of my right knee. I feel my leg drawn forward to rest against her side. "Do you wanna lean back?" she asks hesitantly but politely. It's in the steps, so I'm doing it. Anything they can do, I can try to do just as well. Here I go. Jesus! Zach has a lot to answer for with this choreography. Yeah, let's just get the girls to bump their groin areas together in the name of dance. Capri pants were a bad idea; it feels like I'm naked. Closing my eyes, I count silently. Ten seconds feels like a lifetime when your pulse is jumping and your legs are turning to jello. 3. 2. 1. Snapping back up, my knee drops and we almost clash nose to nose before I'm spun away to a sharp stop and yanked back. Our ribcages clash accidentally and we bounce off each other. We giggle, mildly embarrassed. Time out.

She leans over to speak directly into my ear. My teeth clench hard as I try not to let the alluring tickle distract me entirely. "Aren't you just loving this _so _much?" she asks excitedly. Slipping out of her grip, I crouch down to refasten the buckles on my heels. I don't trust myself with idle hands; I'd just get grabby and regret it. I look across at Dianna's cute sneakers as she practices her steps. Part of me wishes she got to dance more like a girl instead of a boy in this scene. I want to see her go en pointe and show off her ballet skills. I want the audience to see how amazing she is. I'd also like to try making up my own dance with her. Contemporary, maybe. Just to try. Not for anyone else to see. "Are you okay?" she asks, the rubber on her soles squeaking as she slides around punching her fists high in the air.

I nod over-enthusiastically. "Of course!" Call me a liar. Call me a fool. Just don't say that I should tell the truth. Her hands slip around my waist as I stand. She looks at me with a curious, penetrating stare, her perfect lips tensing with concern. Don't frown, baby. Fuck. Even in the safety of my own head, it makes my stomach kick to call her that. Kick. Kick. Kick. Stop thinking about it.

"Ready?" she asks, a giddy smile emerging.

I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I love him. I want to be with _him_. Normally I'd be in Rachel's head now, channeling this into her mess of thoughts. I hope it will be easier when we're actually filming. I'll be able to turn into my character and all these thoughts will be hers, not mine. "Always," I reply. If I were acting like the regular me, I'd be slapping her ass, cuddling everyone, lying on the floor and wafting at my face over-dramatically. Generally being a clown.

Dianna seems wise to my uncharacteristic behavior, but I don't think she suspects the true reason behind it. She doesn't understand that she cast such a powerful spell on me that I can barely walk in a straight line. "You needn't worry. You'll be fine," she re-assures. "There isn't always a wealth of boys in ballet, and so the taller girls sometimes fill in. I'm used to it."

I trust her. I do. I do. Who wouldn't? Even if she did almost walk me off the stage during the performance of 'Whatever It Takes' last year. I smile unevenly. The music starts and we begin our well-rehearsed steps. Over and over. Again and again. Twisting and twirling. Stumbling and tripping. Swearing and apologizing. Laughing and (just the once) weeping. "My hands are tied, my body bruised." Forlornly, I run my hand over her shoulders and down her spine. "She's got me with nothing to win and nothing left to lose," I sing softly as I glide around her. The other girls do the same to their partners, but with amended pronouns of course. Amber lightens the mood by pretending to warm her hands on Chord's butt and makes us all laugh. Small mercies. More of that, please.

Periodically, Dianna is told to remember to lose the big smile when she comes to do it for real. I wish Zach'd cut that out; she's not dumb. She practically _created_ Quinn; she knows she's not super cheerful! Shake it out, Lea. Come on. More steps. More moves. It feels never ending. Oh, I know it will be a beautiful, amazing scene, but right now my strength is fading. For a moment, we stop and line up face to face with our respective partners. Zach comes over and demonstrates a move on Jessalyn. I remember that I _love _this stuff. My experience dancing with Jon during season one was one I hold close to my heart. So precious. This should be too. It's different, though. Exciting, but not in the same way. I'm nervous because it's new for me. I've danced with girls, but not like this.

"It's all about center of balance," Dianna says with a nod. There's definite fear in her eyes. Maybe she's telling herself this fact to feel more at ease.

If I don't relax, this will continue to feel like an afternoon spent in the departure lounge of a delayed long-haul flight. I have to be grateful. I never ever want to regret not taking advantage of such a golden opportunity. Some would kill to be in my shoes. On that note, I'm pretty sure that when this goes out to the nation, I'll definitely move from 'marry' and 'screw' to quite a few people's 'kill' lists. After all, this is a completely enviable position I'm in. Oh, I've been staring at her, unblinking, and licking my lips instead of responding. "I'm good. I trust you." This isn't about trust. Not at all. I understand that now. It's about freaking out at the closeness. This isn't about Rachel and Quinn either. It's all Dianna and Lea here. I'm learning a dance sequence with someone I love very much and yet my heart is thudding with fear and dread. I so want to make her glow with happiness. I want to make this good so that she feels good. I want to make it extraordinary because she's extraordinary.

Each couple will get a moment in the (literal) spotlight. Matty and Jessalyn are demonstrating their injection of a little American Smooth into the routine, as he lifts her onto his shoulder and she flings her arms wide. Wonderful. Amber is running at Chord and threatening to 'do a Dirty Dancing' on him. He's baiting her and yelling for her to go for it. She stops at the last second and curls up into a ball of laughter. God, I wish I weren't so tightly wound today; I want to appreciate what's going on. Okay, now they're doing the lift they're supposed to do. Just amazing. I'll whoop and clap. Yeah. Support for my truly great friends.

Our turn. Everyone is looking at us. Predatorily, Zach steps in and without much notice, he grabs ahold of me. One. Two. Wah! Suddenly I'm practically eating the air-conditioning system. He holds me up like I'm nothing, like he's a circus strongman and I'm a set of inflatable barbells. My hairband flops off and my bangs are let loose; just to make me look that bit more of a mess. He sets me down and my ankles jar painfully. I hear cheering. Dianna looks like she's about to wet herself with excitement. It's infectious and I start to feel a little better, but I'm still worried that she's going to break herself if she attempts the same. This is insane.

"Okay, you're not actually doing that one," Mr Buzz Kill explains. "I just wanted to see your joint reaction."

"_Zach!_" I wail at him. He laughs, so I run around the back of him, grab ahold of his shirt with both hands and threaten to do the same to him.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he exclaims with a chuckle. I back off, giving him fake stink eye looks. "Okay, princess. What you're really gonna do is quite simple. So, even though Di's built like a construction worker," he squeezes her bicep and she titters shyly, "there's no need to go overboard. Lea - after you've paced to the corner looking miserable - you run back in from this direction, turn, swing your right arm around her shoulders, cling on real tight, but face away and let her bring the small of your back to her waist." Experimentally, he moves me, and then her, to see how best to line us up. "Di, put your hand here." He slips her hand between my legs and I freeze. Sliding. Sliding. She comes to a stop. Phew, panic over; the placement is not as high as it could have been. He instructs her that she'll be picking me up by the inner thigh. I'm going to have to go into some deep talks with Lou when we plan which outfit I'll ultimately wear. If Dianna's doing this much up-skirt work, I'll be petitioning for super thick tights. "Lea, make sure that when you go into the lift, you pick your little feet up and bend your knees around her side. So Shelby here -" he nods at Dianna and she smirks (old 'Steel Magnolias' in-joke, not a Corcoran thing) "- will be wearing you like a belt." A belt? What the... sash, not belt; belt sounds awful. He goes on to talk me through how to hold my frame, how not to feel like a dead weight, how to look good in this position. I've always wanted to be a good dancer, but it's never exactly come naturally. I hope this works.

I'm dropped back onto my feet for a moment as Dianna and Zach discuss momentum and how to turn without falling over. I fix my hair in the mirror and splash my face with a little water to cool me off. Standing, I see Dianna watching me in the reflection of the mirror. She scurries over and takes me by the hand. I gawp at her inanely, like a five-year-old with a crush on their teacher. "Come on," she insists, all sparkly-eyed. "I need to show my girl off; that's this boy's role." She whisks my arm over my head so I'm forced to spin into her arms. My stomach flips and a ragged breath shudders its way up my throat. Fuck my life, seriously.

* * *

Song playing right now: The Black Keys - Too Afraid to Love You - _"It's heaven on earth in her embrace. Her gentle touch and her smiling face."_

Standing with her back resting against the counter, Dianna taps her foot from side to side to the sound of the beat. Hands clasped against her chin, she gently presses upwards with her thumbs as if she's massaging an obstruction of words from her throat. "So, ultimately, I made the decision to stop feeling sorry for myself," she says contemplatively, eyelids heavy. I pass her over a jar. She checks it and blinks rapidly. Looking perplexed and amused, she sucks on her bottom lip and hands the jar back to me. "I know it's your recipe, but I'm pretty sure I don't remember that being on the list of ingredients." In the low, warm light, I read the label. Okay, that's not what I intended to grab; this is some sort of Thai spice mix. Try again, Lea. "Do you need to catch forty winks in slumberland?" she asks in a baby voice. I love these cute little terms she uses, even if they are for the purpose of taunting and teasing me. I'll stick my tongue out at her anyway. Ner.

I find myself hiding a smirk as I re-open the cabinet door. I feel oddly shy, like I've been abruptly woken to find myself in a stranger's bed with no knowledge of the previous night. On the outside, I'm calm and collected; inside I'm all tremors and jolts. It's been an intense day. I've been touched by this lady in places reserved for lovers and doctors. I've also been moved around like a store mannequin and generally danced into the floor. "It's been a very long day," I say. Understatement. After fifteen hours in those shoes, I was just dying to crawl into my warm, snuggly bed with a grilled cheese sandwich.

I'm not quite sure how I came to be here. Somehow, in my tired and suggestible state, I let Dianna convince me to come to her house. She's not even letting me cook, but instead I had to choose what would be prepared. I guess it's easier this way, what with her food weirdness and everything. I agreed, but on the terms that she make me a bound, handwritten, indexed and illustrated handbook on her preferences, which I hope will include such guidance as: 'The kale shall not lie down with the tahini-garlic sauce'. I'm deadly serious. It's important!

God, I'm just _so _grateful that the dance sequence filming is done. It's over! Yes! No more manhandling me into compromising positions! I'm now so used to being under her control that, tonight, I feel totally susceptible to her wishes. Now. Pesto. Pesto. Pesto. My eyes wander over the array of unfamiliar groceries. Aha, found it! I win. Instinct makes me turn it over to check the contents. Why am I even doing that? This kitchen is a completely me-friendly zone. There isn't a single thing here that I can't eat. It's like walking into Café Gratitude: the whole menu is safe, which, for me, is beyond thrilling. Especially since the Italian in me just wants to eat until I pull apart at the seams. When food is involved, I'm content.

In this house I can absolutely guarantee that I'm not going to throw open the refrigerator door to find a chunk of salami nestled up against my stuffed pepper. Okay, that example sounded dirty. It happened, though. Do I still sound pissed about that? Anyway, I know that if I say to Dianna: 'Oh! I had some awesome ice cream the other day', she's not gonna say: 'So you're back on dairy, huh?' like so many people do. Hence why I always clarify on Twitter and in interviews that I eat _vegan _alternatives. No one likes being judged on something they haven't done. Also, yes, I guess I do like to be a bit of an ambassador too, and, y'know, take advantage of my puny influence over the world. Use it or lose it. Dianna is raising her eyebrows at me because I just did a 'muhahaha' laugh under my breath.

Okay, what I'm saying is that even despite feeling strangely jet-lagged and spaced out, I'm at ease here. No matter how hard I try to keep a mental distance, this place, this home, and this girl _are _like a warm, snuggly bed and a grilled cheese sandwich. Just a few days and I'll be in New York, but I've not been focusing on my big love for that city like I normally would be; all I can think about is wanting to be here... with her. "And why were you feeling sorry for yourself?" I ask as I move over to join her by the stove, opening the jar with a satisfying 'ploch' noise. "You don't have to say if you don't want to, but you know how I like to interrogate." One day I'll get a response from her that actually answers my question.

She's turned away from me, busy pouring boiling water. I'll be patient. I watch her shoulders stiffen and then shrug as a lid clatters its way onto the pan. "We're all a little guilty of succumbing to that kind of mindset sometimes," she explains. Oh well, it was worth a try. "It doesn't do well to be maudlin all the time."

All the time? I don't remember there being a day when Dianna hadn't cracked a smile at least a hundred times, even if a few of those days were peppered with tearful outbursts. I shouldn't, but I kind of miss the times when she used to lean on me, cry on me, and panic that I wouldn't be there for her through tougher times. I don't want to wish sadness on her, but I miss her needing me. I'm such a small part of her life now. Slipping my hand beneath the neckline of my top, I rub my shoulder and squeeze away the tension. I don't really want to disagree with her, so I find myself saying nothing. That's a rarity.

I glance around her kitchen. The room itself hasn't changed since I was last here, but there are always new things to discover. I see she managed to convince the props department to let her have the weird peacock from the thirties episode; its beady eyes are staring down at me from a high shelf. On the wall, there is a series of photographs, old tickets and cards wedged behind the ribbons of a squidgy, fabric-covered board.

"I'm taking the time to discover more; lay myself open to new experiences," she says distractedly. Yeah, clearly, as illustrated in some of these pictures. Wild child. Could her social calendar be any more full?

She indicates a stack of books on the table, and sends me over while she chops and dices. The one on top has a post-it labeled for me. Okay, let's take a look at the back cover. 'If you think you're crazy, this is the book for you.' Well, I'm in. Out of curiosity, I check out the rest. There's a large, well-thumbed book of Kris Kuksi's sculptures for her designer friend Chris, which I should offer to take when I go home on Saturday. Let's see. A hardback copy of 'Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M.' marked for Tez. A funny-looking nonsense book called 'Animals of the Ocean, in Particular the Giant Squid' for my Chris. All the rest have Book Crossing labels on them; when she isn't free to travel, she lets her books do the walking. So sweet. "Hey, do you mind if I borrow the Frank Capra one you mentioned?" I ask.

"If you mean Franz Kafka, the short story collection is in the pile by the fireplace," she chuckles. "Unless you'd like to borrow my DVD of 'It's a Wonderful Life', which you're also free to do, but it's not really the season for it."

Shoot. I bite my lip and wrinkle my nose. Silly me. And there I was trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about. I laugh at myself as I escape to the next room. "I'm such an idiot."

"You are a goddess!" she shouts.

I come to a sharp halt just past the doorway. Physical chills. "You crazy charmer," I call back. Combing my fingers through the length of my hair, I close my eyes and take a moment. The current song merges into the next and, over the faint bubble and sizzle of cooking, I hear Dianna sing along. There's this strange sort of smoke-like sensation of love that is swirling around in my stomach and chest. I'm just billowing with it. It feels almost insuppressible. I wouldn't wish it away for the world, though. It's nice.

Maybe there's nothing wrong with feeling this way. So I like her company. So sue me. Does it really matter if the sound of her voice is better than chocolate and champagne? Who cares that catching her gaze feels as good as being backstage at a theater? Aren't those things just the frosting on life's cake? It doesn't mean I'm 101% gay or anything. It just means I'm a sensual girl. It just means that she's wonderful.

* * *

Returning to the kitchen, I quietly step in and watch Dianna as she carefully scoops lettuce into a salad bowl. So pretty. As ever, I can't help myself. Still unnoticed, I slip behind her and grab her waist. I said it before: idle hands. She squeaks and yelps simultaneously. A spoon goes flying and several things tumble over. She's laughing as I dig my fingers into her belly and cuddle into her back. "You made me make a mess!" she complains cheerfully. "Naughty." I press harder and she clears her throat, rubbing at her brow with the back of her wrist.

Pushing up onto my toes, I look over her shoulder. She's about to clean up when instinct takes me over. "Hey, hey, no." With a brisk yank at the waistband of her skirt, I tug her around to face me. Leaning in, I crush her against the counter, the edge of which she clasps with both hands. A sharp breath escapes between her parted lips.

I'm about to reach past her when she whispers: "What are you doing?" I stop to check the subtle nuances of her expression. She's not laughing. Not angry. Maybe a little despondent? Her eyes gleam with confusion. Timidly, she licks her lips. I watch entranced. She has the most inviting mouth of anyone I've ever met. "Lea?" She tries to grin, but doesn't quite manage it.

I frown deeply. We're so alone here. No one watching. No one forcing me to place my hand on her hip like this. No one instructing me to squeeze this hard. Pushing forward with the excuse of once again trying to reach past her, my jutting pelvic bones nudge at the tops of her thighs. I pause. It feels... it feels... I struggle to keep my eyes open. I just want to let my chin drop forward onto her shoulder. I want to stroke my fingers through her hair. I want... "I... the salt," I begin hesitantly. "It's something Jon does, y'know, superstition... your shoulder." I should let go of her. I should step back. Shit. I should get the salt. What if something happens? What if I don't do it and she gets hurt? I've got to do it. I've got to do it.

She slumps, relaxes a little and pushes my extended arm back to my side. As she moves her head to look behind her, I'm briefly blinded by the sight of a mercury glass sphere on a low shelf, stuffed full with twinkle lights. "That's very thoughtful of you, uhm - and you know how I hate to disappoint - but it was the sugar that tipped up. Not salt." Her mouth looks like it wants to be kissed, but it's just a mirage caused by the fireball pattern still burnt onto my retinas.

I dip and shake my head. "Oh my gosh, I am such a failure today. It was bad enough dancing with these two left feet."

Smiling sort of sultrily, she jokingly knocks her forehead against mine. Bringing one hand up, she strokes my bangs out of my eyes. A pleasant shiver courses sharply up my spine. "You were stunning today. I'd dance with you every day if I could."

"You would?" I sigh. A glow of warmth settles in the pit of my stomach.

Her hands drop behind me and I feel her fingertips cascade up and down my lower back. "I would."

God, that feels like heaven. Happily, I lean back and let her take my weight. Is it really a problem if I get a twisted thrill out of having her body pressed against mine? Everyone's a bit gay anyway, aren't they? It's not a problem unless I try to act on it, right? Pulled upright, she spins me away and then swings me back. We laugh blithely as she sweeps me around the kitchen to a beat that totally doesn't fit the slow, gliding steps.

I feel rejuvenated. Lucky. We've got pretty damn good at this dance. No need for dramatics at all. No big deal. I'm just going to enjoy this amazing connection. I'm comfortable and happy. No more freak-outs. My life is blessed, seriously.

* * *

Again, song playing now. Like, right now: Edward and the Magnetic Zeros - 40 Day Dream - _"It's the magical mystery kind. Must be a lie. Bye bye to the too good to be true kind of love. Oh no, I could die."_

I have Arthur's ears covered so that he can't hear the horrible things his mommy is talking about. Leaning back against the arm of the couch, I look at Dianna with shock. "But why?"

"Don't overreact." She raises her hands and laughs at my reaction. "It's just a storyline, and an extremely worthwhile one. I thought you'd be pleased. I'm honored to be trusted with it."

I feel nauseated. Tears form in my eyes as I clear my throat. I must try to be rational about this. "Of course you are! And I'm happy they're covering the issue. It's just... teen suicide." What if they actually kill her off? What if they lay Quinn to rest? My heart is beating out of my chest and I'm almost having a panic attack. I use Arthur as a physical shield. "I... I... you..." God, I really don't want to watch her die again. It was hard enough the first five times. Tears well in my eyes. "But I'd miss you _so _much!"

"Lea!" She tilts her head and holds her throat, momentarily lost for words and suddenly saddened. "I... I didn't mean Quinn would get to that point." Her eyelashes flutter and she draws her teeth over her bottom lip. "Please let me reassure you that I'm not going anywhere. They want to show how she gets through her troubles. To aid and inspire those in the same position."

I let go of the breath I've been holding in. "Sorry. Sorry." Relax. Relax. "I'm so, so proud. Really I am." Tipping my head back, I silently praise the skies. "You would tell me if _you _were down, wouldn't you?" Feeling the need to kiss something, I press my lips to Arthur's wrinkly brow. "Because if you are and you play that kind of part, then you're gonna make yourself feel -"

She jumps in. "I'm not." I feel her grab my knee eagerly.

"But you _would _tell me?"

A pause. She sits back, scratching delicately at her temple, like there's a memory she's trying to score away. "Yeah, of course."

My nose is hurting with something like an almost-sneeze. "Y'know, because you have _so_ many new people in your life, and you're not sharing all that much." Screwing my eyes shut, I turn away briefly to _actually _sneeze. Blinking, I continue. "So how am I ever to know when something has upset you when you don't really come to me?"

My comment makes her swallow reflectively. "Gesundheit and don't worry about me," she reassures. "Please don't ever worry about me. Please. I wouldn't want that for you."

She should stand up, look at me fiercely and say that it's none of my business. I want her to. I continue regardless, reeling out things I'd been wanting to say for a while. I'm not getting on this high horse, but I sure as hell am gonna let it gallop. "One moment you're out with that one guy and then seen out with... with someone else." Do I sound like her mom or her manager? I'm now almost deliriously tired, and being a little too honest for my own good. "You love so easily, and I don't want to see you get hurt like I know you have been before."

"I'm protecting myself from that kind of pain." She winces, her pink cheeks twitching. "Or, at least, trying to."

I look down at her colorful Fair Isle slippers and then across to the pair that she loaned me which are, essentially, furry monster feet. "How does _anyone _protect themselves from being hurt?" It's a genuine question.

Playing with Arthur's paws to avoid direct eye contact, she weakly utters her reply: "By taking life a little less seriously."

I lower my head so that she's forced to look at me. "And?"

Her expression becomes expectant. I wait. "Uh..." she finally says. "_And _just experiencing what people have to give without getting in too deep?"

Why is she saying that like it's a question? Only _she _knows. I can't help her explain. I cover Arthur's supersize ears again. "Casual relationships?" I whisper. Don't say yes, Dianna. Please. Because, if you do, all I'll hear is 'meaningless sex'.

"I wouldn't say that exactly. I'm developing a no regrets lifestyle. Embracing freedom." She presses her lips together for a moment. "An exploration into remaining detached, but always with interesting and like-minded people." All emotion has been wiped from her face. Blank. This is Dianna on autopilot. Press 1 to hear this pre-recorded message in Spanish. Why couldn't she have just said no? But then that would have been lying, by her standards. I'd almost rather she lay herself open to being heartbroken than think it's okay to float from person to person with little care for commitment. The sensation brewing inside my stomach is ugly. My jaw tightens. I feel dizzy. "I know it must be frustrating for you to have me so close yet so far. One day I'll get there. I'm working my way through this..." She falters and stops, her eyes shining. "Every day I'm finding... I'm finding new and wonderful things that will help me move past -"

"It's okay," I concede, silencing her. "I understand. As long as you're taking good care of yourself, I'm happy for you." I nod and smile, trying to hold my frame and not let my disappointment show in my posture. I need to escape before I unleash any other home truths. "Hey!" I try to brighten up even more. Glancing at the clock, I tap my bare wrist. "It's almost midnight." I walk Arthur off my lap and onto the floor.

"It is?" she asks surprised, looking up at me as I stand. I flee out of the room and quickly change into my Uggs. She follows me and hands me the books I need to take. "I had a lovely night, Lea."

"Me too. Me too. Dinner was absolutely yummy. Even better than I make it. Just the best. Thank you so much." With my free hand, I clutch the back of her neck and pull her down so I can plant a kiss on her cheek. Second nature. I do it all the time with all sorts of people. But this time, with her, a different sort of human nature makes my fingers tease the silken hairs at the nape of her neck. Reluctantly, I let go and force a smile to emerge on my nervous lips. "Night night."

"Night night," she echoes sweetly as I step out.

* * *

Slumping into the driver's seat, I slam the car door shut, place the books on the passenger seat and fasten my belt. My line of sight drifts to my left. An angel: that's what Dianna looks like standing there with unkempt golden hair, a lumpy sweater and bare knees. Starting the engine, I watch as she slowly closes the door. Gone.

Turning to fix my stare at the street ahead, I finally let go. My brick walls crumble. My hands slip from the wheel and fall to my knees with a somber slap. Finally, I got an answer from her that meant something. My eyes squeeze shut. I find the image I had denied myself earlier, now imprinting itself onto my mind's eye. She's there in crystal clarity, pushing her head back into the bedsheets. Writhing. Gasping. Shuddering.

My insides clench. The physical response is as strong as if I'd visualized myself falling to the floor or being cut with a knife. I feel awful. It's terrible. I feel so uncomfortable. It almost hurts. I don't want to see it. I want this image banished. Take it away. Take it all away. _Not_ because it doesn't turn me on. _Not_ because I don't love her. _Not_ because I don't want to make her happy that way. Take it away because I broke an unwritten rule: I imagined that it was someone _else_ causing those reactions in her, someone else touching and pleasing her. And I never _ever_ want to see that again.


	20. Perspective

Between and LJ, this story has received over 1,000 comments. You can't imagine how grateful I am for that. Honestly, it's just amazing. Thank you.

* * *

Song I woke to this morning: Beck - Everybody's Got to Learn Sometime - _"Change your heart. It will astound you."_

The engine is purring with life; a continuous rumble of noise that constantly reminds me that I'm wasting gas and polluting the environment. I need to get home. There's sleep to be had. People to see tomorrow. Things to do. One little problem: the car won't go. The car won't go because I can't get it out of park. And my hand won't take the gear shift out of goddamned park because I can't leave. Stuck. My mind tightly wound shut. This is no good. I press the ignition and the engine becomes silent. All stop. Again. What am I doing? That's the fourth time now. I'm trying, I really am. Taking hold of the wheel, I flex my fingers and grasp tightly. It's all about control.

My cheeks are hot, but the rest of me is ice cold. My chest keeps letting out these raggedy-type breaths. Anyone walking by right now might think I've just seen a ghost or suffered a crash. I keep shuddering, like I'm in shock or something. I have this overwhelming sensation constantly buzzing and tickling the base of my throat, and each time I close my eyes, I feel like my ears are about to pop with pressure. Resentment. Fear. Revulsion. Excitement. I'm a mess of emotions, arousal being the most frustrating of them all. Unclenching my teeth, I force myself to swallow and exhale. Twisting the rear view mirror to face me, I use the side of my thumb to clean up a fair few mascara-mottled tear streaks. Once done, I can't help but simply stare at my reflection.

Your lips look so darn puffy, Lea. What's this crying about? Since when, missy, has Dianna been this huge object of your affection, huh? How come you'd gladly slap the smile from any _'suitor' _that passed her way? For that matter, when did your feelings of jealousy start to burn like a bitch? Was it always there, lurking at the back of your senses and making you crave her company more than that of anyone else? How, all this time, have you just skipped from rock to rock and never noticed the dangerous white water rapids rushing beneath your feet?

A car zooms by and its headlights momentarily blind me. My palms rush to my sore eyes, and remain there as I begin to find the darkness reassuring. I want to say goodnight again. I want to go knock on that door and just see her face once more tonight. Once more, so that it's the last picture I have in my mind before I go to sleep. If I don't, I'll be cursed with nightmares about her various 'liaisons' and 'encounters' with other people. My tongue tastes bitter. I'm being a bitch, aren't I? Signs point to yes. I mean, I should want her to be happy. I should let her be. It's not like I could walk up there right now, anyway; I have pins and needles in the soles of my feet and my joints feet spongey and strange.

Pressing hard at my eyelids with my fingertips, I try to psyche myself up. "Come on. Go, go, go." I exhale deeply. "Okay." A knuckle on glass raps twice. "Holy shit!" I exclaim as my hands drop to my thighs. Wide-eyed, I look to my left. It's hard to adjust to the light after so much darkness. I'm seeing stars. Oh, and that angel I know so well.

"It it broken?" The car door pops open and brisk night air rushes in. "Is it broken?" Dianna repeats, her voice now unmuffled.

"Huh?" I blink repeatedly.

"Will it not start? Should I call for a tow? Have you got the brake pressed to the floor?" she asks, ducking down and leaning in. "Isn't that what you said you have to do?"

All I've retained is 'pressed to the floor' and it's giving me uncomfortably strong tingles. Concentrate and ask again. "Sorry?" Her ear is a hair's breadth away from my lips. It invites me to whisper secrets, but I can't because my tonsils and heart have wound up in a fender bender collision and are now having a very New York argument at the back of my throat. Not that I'm entirely sure what those secrets would consist of anyway.

"You haven't!" I hear her say above the sound of my pulse drumming in my ears. Her hand slaps my knee in mock punishment and every muscle in my body spasms with a shiver. I gasp and she laughs. I wouldn't mind if she did that again, and I don't mean the laughing part. I push back into my seat to create just a little more space between us. Her white skirt hangs foward, crumpling against my leg. Her calf muscles become taut as she steadies her stance. I want to run my hand over the exposed skin.

I wish she'd fall across me and laugh. No, I want something a lot more intimate than that. "Ready?" she asks. For what? When I don't respond, she looks over her shoulder and catches my eye. Oh, the car? I push the brake as she picks up my hand and presses my index finger to the ignition. Does she think I have fingerprint recognition or is she just trying to kill me? She seems surprised when the car starts, but then she doesn't know that was _never _the problem. "Ta da! You're good to go," she says softly, but triumphantly. Could she be any cuter?

Licking my lips, I find my voice. "Thank you. I think I just, y'know, like, forgot how to drive!" Lame. I just forgot how to not let thoughts of her paralyse my mind. Smiling is suddenly difficult. With concern, Dianna puts her hand on my forehead to check if I'm burning up. Wrong kind of fever, sweetie. I crush my tongue between my teeth to counter the pleasure of her touch.

"Are you okay? Would you like me to take you home?"

Only if it's back to _your _home, Di. I want you to put me in your bed and hold me until I fall asleep. I want to know why I'm suddenly feeling like nothing is more important than you. I want to know why I feel drunk when I've not had a drop. And I want to know what the hell to do about it. "No. I'm good, thanks. Just a moment of haziness." My mouth is a big fucking liar that's in cahoots with my cowardly tongue.

Clearly biting the inside of her cheek, Dianna ponders this. Her hand slips down the length of my seatbelt, from shoulder to hip. Safety check. If a guy did that to me, I'd assume he was looking for an excuse to brush his hand past my tits, but Dianna's not that kind of girl. So, yeah, safety check. Despite the dim light, I can see her eyes: they're gleaming with anguish. It can't be comfortable for her to stand like that, all hunched over and twisted like a dentist observing her patient.

She's still shielding me from the wheel and glancing around for an excuse to stop me from leaving. I don't care if it's an: 'I don't want you driving if you're sleepy' or an 'I've just suddenly realized that I have to play fourteen games of Monopoly before dawn for charity, and you have to be my partner'. Either way, I would stay. I would. Her lips part and my breathing stops in anticipation of her reply. Please invite me back in. Please. Please. Please.

Nothing. No words at all. Delicately, she teases at a strand of my hair caught beneath the neckline of my gray cardigan. Fingertips lightly brush my collar bone. I never thought I'd get to the point where I _wouldn't _want Dianna to touch me, but I have to admit it: that moment has come. Her thumb barely strokes my neck and I'm having to stifle a moan. It's one thing to take comfort in physical contact, but quite another when it becomes so stimulating that you don't know what to do with yourself. Like I said: it's all about control now, and when she touches me, I feel like I'm losing it. If I'm not careful, I'll make an embarrassment of myself. Reaching up, I place my hand on hers to stop the excruciating tickle.

With a flip of her blonde hair, she quickly she ducks back out. The door closes with a quiet thunk and I'm alone again. I want her back in here. I want a second chance. I want to feel her hands on my shoulders. I want to know what she feels like through her clothes. I want her on my lap and straddling me, her knees either side of my hips. Some conclusion, I know, but yes, that's definitely what I want. I want contact I've never felt with her before. I stare at her through the window. She steps back and her figure is thrown into sharp relief by street lights and moonbeams. "Bye, bye," she mouths, before blowing me a kiss. Folding her arms tightly against her chest, she gives me a winning smile that makes me blush. I respond in kind. Time to go.

I'm finally driving off. It's actually happening this time. The smaller she becomes in my rear view mirror, the more my smile fades. Turning a corner, I pull up and stop to let out a big sigh. Distance is good. Perspective, yeah, that's what I need. Even if I only find it, like, one block at a time. Okay, now I just need to get out of park again. Shit, this may be a long night. I wonder... if I left the car and walked back, would she let me stay the night?

The Magic 8-Ball in my head says: Don't count on it.

* * *

Song of the hour: Sara Bareilles - Fairytale - _"Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, man made up a story. Said that I should believe him. Go and tell your white knight that he's handsome in hindsight, but I don't want the next best thing. So I sing, I hold my head down and I break these walls round me. Can't take no more of your fairytale love."_

Could someone kindly put me in touch with my usually ever-glowing bright side? It's absent, presumed dead. I shouldn't feel like this. I'm here, in my most beloved of cities, shooting a _movie_starring many of Hollywood's finest actors, and able to see my family, pets and boyfriend. Yet I feel like everything is going off plan. I don't know this route like I thought did. These sights aren't filling me with euphoric joy like they normally do. Maybe I need even more distractions. I certainly need a sense of hope in this untenable situation. And I definitely need more hot water in this tub.

Bubbles slump lazily over my shoulders as the level rises. The faucet temperature isn't as scalding as I'd like, but it will have to be enough. I just want to be consumed by this steamy cloud, and slip further into this fragrant, watery bed. This cinnamon latte sugar scrub is heaven scent... get it? Heaven... _scent_? Never mind. Closing my eyes, I visualize the cute deli on the corner. I could get there in, oh, say twenty minutes if I skip drying my hair. Maybe fifteen if I take the stairs instead of waiting for this apartment building's decrepit old elevator, which never fails to get stuck somewhere around floor three. Or I could just stay here and deal. Sighing deeply, I carve a tall cup out of foam and carefully hold it between my palms for a few seconds before squashing it. Kablooey.

I don't know what's real anymore. Suds slide between my fingers as I surf my hands over the gentle waves. Out of the blue, a shiver runs down my spine. Lately I can't warm up. Not physically, but mentally. I'm all cold and heavy inside, listless and drained. Thoughts aren't circulating properly. Love isn't pounding in my veins, only stumbling and tripping its way around my body. I feel wrong. Or uncertain. Yeah, that's more like it: uncertain. And that's not something that fits well on me: I'm a very certain person. Three thousand miles was supposed to bring me some clarity. Bending my knees, I let my head drop back, and my ears disappear beneath the water. The ceiling of this bathroom has the weirdest pattern.

The sound of my breathing is amplified and reassuring. A constant in this life of variables. A single lyric swims around my mind: 'Oh, but it's sad when a love affair dies'. Again and again. Am I telling myself I should break up with Theo? Is it a self-accusal? After all, that song is about using people. Is that what I feel I've done? Do I have reason to believe that? Is my subconscious revealing to me what I don't want to admit to myself? Saying that, I was singing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in my head earlier, so fuck knows what that's meant to indicate.

Calmed by the rippling waters, I'm lulled into dream-like places. Every inhalation makes me rise up a little. With eyes now clenched shut, I exhale slowly and sink, floating low with as much of me submerged as possible, but nose and mouth always above the surface. Like during every other quiet moment, I start to wonder again. Where did it all begin? Memories keep knocking at my door, demanding that I face the truth. Did I _really_ convince Ryan to put our characters together? Who does that? What must Dianna have thought of me? I'll say it again... who does that? What were my motives? To kiss her? Can it be that simple? Well, yeah, sure, who wouldn't want to kiss her? Ugh, I need to stop using that stupid excuse. I _purposefully _engineered myself into that situation.

Do I want to kiss her now? The sudden memory of her lips on mine makes my insides flutter like crazy. I die a little. I'm hideously jealous of and pissed off with my past self. Twenty-twenty hindsight is a killer. And my answer? With no pardons or excuses I say: Jesus, yes! Yes, I want to kiss her. And can I be sure that it's more than just a really intense friend feeling? A few weeks ago I'd have said no, but now? Now it's a huge yes too. Bursting into tears because you've accepted that your friend is fucking people who aren't you is _not _normal. There's no way I can continue to add love to jealousy and still come up with 'bestie pals'. That was some screwed up math I once had. I can't deny this to myself any longer, and I definitely need to stop asking myself questions as justification for visualizing the kinds of things that might otherwise make me feel guilty.

These truths are mind-blowing. God, y'know, it's incredible. I'm so strangely excited for this revelation, but just as equally crushed. A growing smile. A shrivelling heart. Dancing wildly to a majorly upbeat song, but singing the saddest lyrics about losing _absolutely _everything. I mean, what the hell do I do with all this information? It's like finding out I've been blessed with the ability to see a color that nobody else can even imagine. Liberated and incarcerated simultaneously. All this time... all this time and I never realized how serious this was. I was so dumb. I just thought Dianna was special. I just thought she was magnificent. I never let myself see the root cause of my adoration. For years now I've been like an annoying puppy, repeatedly padding around her feet and yapping at her ankles. And she's been, like, totally gracious about it. That poor girl.

So I'm just a lovesick kid who, frankly, will probably behave no differently to before. It's not like I'm gonna make a move. My hands are tied. Somehow I've got to put this attraction to bed. Except, in so many ways, I want to nurture it and keep it safe; it feels good, y'know, as long as it doesn't become a burden. I can dream about my cake and not y'know, well, y'know. Oy. Pressing my knees together, I arch my back and feel the sudden contrast of the cool air on my breasts. Life is weird. Reaching behind my head, I comb my fingers through my hair; it feels pretty and - I don't have the right word, so I'll just make one up - mermaidian. Dianna would have had a word. Her intelligence is the sexiest thing about her. Okay, maybe not _the _sexiest: other things come first. Oy again. Mustn't let my thoughts wander, or I'll think about her with other guys and gals. And that will lead only to a rekindling of my shameful threeway relationship with Mister Spoon and Mistress Peanut Butter.

Calm. Calm. Shake it out. I'll pretend I'm in an isolation tank. A little light meditation. For me, the only problem with sensory deprivation is that nothing is gonna stop certain thoughts drifting through, so I'll have to keep my pinching fingers at the ready. A little controlled daydreaming is good for the imagination and the soul, right? I'm okay as long as I steer clear of a certain lady. Soft tides caress at my skin like tender sliding hands. A painful, erotic hunger bites at my stomach. This may not go to plan. Should I give in?

We're in that deli. Yeah, pretty sure. We're in that deli across the street and I'm crying. Soft effortless tears of thanks and appreciation roll down my face. Looking down, I'm overcome by the rush of sensation as Dianna's hand covertly slips gently across my thigh, tickling, massaging and squeezing. My skin begins to buzz with feverish excitement. I'm forced to wet my lips as my own rapid breathing has dried them.

We look at each other and suddenly blinking feels like a luxury we can't afford. I examine the reflections in her eyes and take in how the bright morning light makes her hair almost ethereal. Her fingers slip across my hand, seeking to interlock with mine. When they do, she pulls, yanking my hand to the left side of her chest and leaving it there. I feel so validated. I feel so wanted. So warm. I want to feel wanted like this. Right now I want nothing more.

Just my imagination, of course. Theory, not practice. Nevertheless, I'm so at home in this unreal place. Real enough, maybe. I'll stay here for just a little longer. Just a short while. She leans in and whispers into my ear. My eyes close and my sinuses sting. Just a fantasy. The lack of actual physical contact doesn't negate feelings; it lets them blossom undeterred.

My ribcage feels tight, as if I can really feel her pressed up against me. Swiftly, and with complete disregard for how watched we might be by these pretend patrons, she takes my cheeks in her palms and raises my chin. The tip of her nose bumps mine. Oh God, she looks so unhappy, so torn and wistful. Why would I play this out and have her reluctant? I'm sure I could have that in real life if I wanted. My stomach rolls over with discomfort. A tear falls from her eye and hits my cheek. This all feels so hideously familiar. I don't think I can be liking myself all that much right now. But what's a fantasy with no conclusion? Pulling at her waist, I silently beg her for a kiss, but instead she merely breathes my name against my lips.

A wash of distorted deep noises hits my ears. "Babe?"

Surprised, I splutter and pull myself up. Wiping my face, I watch as Theo leans past me and places a hot drink on the side of the tub. My chest drags in lungfuls of vapor-filled air as water drips from my eyelashes.

"Didn't hear you," I croak out quietly as I stretch my legs and sit up. Oops, forgot my self-imposed vow of silence.

"Sorry." Pushing up the sleeve of his undershirt, he plunges his hand deep into the water. Cupping the underside of my knee, he pulls my leg up so that he can kiss my smooth shin. "I've made us dinner, but it'll keep until you're ready."

I frown and look expectant as I take a sip of soothing hot tea. Best not to expect too much; he's not one for cooking.

"Chilli non carne." He beams. "From scratch. Good, yeah?"

An enthusiastic nod from me. Why do I presume so little of him? On occasion, I am a jerk of Palin proportions. Okay, maybe not that bad.

"How's your throat? Still sore?"

Another nod from me, this time with added frown. It was the air-con on the airplane, I'd swear it. Stupid floating germs.

He examines my water-obscured body and then leans in to kiss my grumpy, pouty lips. Stubble scrapes my chin. It's okay: I'm used to it. "Doesn't stop you looking gorgeous." I feel like I want to throw up. Not his fault. He looks like he's about to burst with love, and I'm just lying here wishing the bubbles hadn't all disappeared. I'm vulnerable and exposed. I don't want him looking at me, and that's odd because I'm extremely proud of my body: I worked hard for these legs. Still, though, his eyes on me make me feel embarrassed. It's been so long since we were last together in person, I'd almost forgotten what he looked like.

For the first time in my life, I find myself wanting Theo to have an imperfection significant enough for me to be justified in wanting to walk away. The nauseous feelings aren't due to illness; they're due to the fact that I'm currently wondering if I'm gonna break his heart. If. When. How. He and I click, and have done since the day we were introduced. We have a lot of the same interests and loves. He has beautiful eyes, gives good hugs, and loves me. We work. Two broken halves of the same vase, maybe. But it feels like cracks are appearing, pieces are falling away. The picture we form isn't all that pretty anymore.

I need to think hard about this. Does he deserve this lowering of my estimation? God no! So what do I do? Give up a long-term relationship based purely on my being a little head over heels for one of my best friends? That's whack! I love him. I really do. And, sick though it may be, I really don't have a better offer right now. Shallow. Yes, but leaving something that you understand and trust isn't always easy. He's a nice guy in a world of jerks. I'm very lucky. And who knows, maybe this is a phase I'm going through because we're in a rut. At least, I am. This poor, sweet man has heard nothing but talk of Dianna since he and I met. Not many would put up with that. He's used to my ways. He's used to my craziness. I'd be an idiot to let him go.

Letting the water drain away, I step out and he slips me into a robe. I find myself staring at his t-shirt. An album cover logo. Daniel Johnston. A musician whose name will light up Dianna's face. I never need the full six degrees of separation to get to her. Everything is a visual cue. She eclipses everything and, frankly, always has. I bite my bottom lip to stop it wobbling. She's so hard to escape.

I once said I'd 'go gay' for her. I had enthusiastically announced it to the world without a second thought. And what was her reply? Something in agreement. Non-committal. Probably didn't want to offend me. Never one for lying, she would have danced around the truth. It bothers me that I can't remember. I guess it doesn't matter.

After all, not every ditto means I love you.

* * *

The chatter of an audience. The tuning up of an orchestra in the pit. That's what the sounds of New York are like to me. I am held captivated by this city: it's an old friend; a trusted lover; a family member; the beat of my drum. So many different people congregate along the sidewalks. Locals. Tourists. The rich. The poor. So many lives packed into one place, swirling around this soupy cauldron. I've missed watching them as they talk, argue, and fall in love. I could just eat up these streets. I love this place so much I could just cry. I never feel more real than when I'm here.

Clinging to the brick wall, I just listen to the calming cacophony of traffic and attempt to hold back the tears. I'm hiding away and just staring at my phone. A single message from Chris that seemed to slice me open like a shard of glass. I was in the theater when I got it, all happy and content with my boys. I was feeling brighter and more confident. That's gone now. All the hope I had was zapped with just a few words. And it's so stupid. So silly. As soon as the interval came, I rushed out and asked Jon to divert Theo's attention while I ran outside for air and tried to avoid any paparazzi.

Sliding my thumb up and down the screen, I watch the words flip back and forth. I don't know how to reply. Another message comes through. It just says: 'Better get in there and stake your claim!'

From around the corner, Jon bounds and scoops me into his arms. "There you are!" Kissing my head, he looks down at me and squeezes my waist. "I could tell something was wrong. What happened?"

"Theo?" I ask, still trying to rest my poor throat.

"Found a friend." Seeing the phone in my hand, Jon grabs for it. "May I?" he asks with barely a flick of a glance towards me. He knows he can. I already know it word for word. I watch him as he reads, a frown emerging on his forehead. "That's all right, you can get back together with Jesse!"

I don't have the ability to explain right now, so I just look at him; make myself as transparent as possible. Except that means lowering my defences, and when I do that, I cry.

"Oh." He steps back and presses his fingertips to his lips, looking for a place to sit me down. There isn't one. "I'm sorry. I... Lea, when you said you had a crush on Dianna, I didn't take it all that seriously. Well, I took it seriously, but you _have _consistently laughed it off every time I've mentioned it."

"S'okay." I pat his arm as he holds me up, almost trying to comfort him. Scrunching my eyes up, I try to hold on. I don't want to become a blubbering mess because I know that if I start, I won't stop tonight.

"You can't just live vicariously through your character, honey."

But that's the point: I can't even do _that _anymore because the message from Chris stated that Rachel might soon have a rival for Quinn's heart on her hands. Until this moment, I hadn't realized I'd been pinning all my hopes onto the faint knowledge that they'd get back together one day. Now it might never happen. I feel utterly heartbroken.

Matters are evidently more certain than I had previously thought.


	21. The Winner Takes It All

To Jock and ilu: Mostly it's to do with the fact that she believes that Di, after breaking up with Alex, was on the rebound and formed a crush on her character, not necessarily on _her_. There's also a denial in there, and she's in the frame of mind of thinking that our lady Di has moved on. But I think we all know Lea's not as restrained as Dianna, so chancing her arm isn't out of the question...

For our place in this alternate timeline: we're just getting into April 2011 and the cast are filming the last four episodes of season 2. :)

* * *

Song currently stuck in my head: Me - I Stayed Too Long At The Fair - _"No, daddy dear, you never could have known that I would be successful, yet so very much alone."_

From a distance, I nervously watch the crew gather. Make-up rush in and, for a bare moment, I can see a few of my co-star friends patiently hanging out by the candy apple booth. They're being playful while the scene is set up. There's Mark cuddling a stuffed bear that's almost as tall as he is and twice as wide. Oh, I should say, what's about to play out is a scene that does my character no favors, and although I'm very protective of Rachel, it's all about me now; not that they know it's gonna hurt me. And, God, that seems like such a dramatic statement, as if what is soon to be acted out might cause me actual physical pain. It's not that at all, but the script alone made me feel like someone had stabbed me in the belly and forcefully twisted the blade. And I'm not even in this scene.

Hey, now there's that pretty girl. Such a beauty. I can feel that I'm doing my gawping face, but honestly, who looks that good after such a rushed day? I am _nothing _next to her. She's laughing with Chord and looking particularly sexy. I need to look away and think about something else, like now. The bright lights of the funfair illuminate the sky. It's awesomely atmospheric. Slumping back in my chair, I stare at the few stars that have managed to blink their way through the clouds, and I take in a good gulp of the surprisingly warm night air. Music booms. The rides screech and grind. People scream, talk and shout. It all helps stamp out my busy thoughts. If only I could get a few minutes sleep, I'd really appreciate it. If I could wake up once it's all over, I'd be even better off. Except I'm not even the slightest bit tired. In fact I'm hyped up and completely overwrought. Buzzed. Also dizzy, but that's due to all the time spent on the Tilt-A-Whirl with Darren and Amber.

Tossing and turning is all I do in bed these days. I've tried giving up caffeine, but even after I survived the headaches and the crabbiness, there was still one overriding stimulant in my system: Dianna. At some point in my life, she pinned me down, stuck my poor heart with a needle and gave me a shot of pure Agronaline. Anyhow, I'm back on the coffee. Double buzzed. Why fight the inevitable? With my over-alert reactions, I'm feeling super self-conscious around her. I shrug away when she goes to interlink her arm with mine. Each touch stings pleasure into me. I want it, but I can't handle it. I'm going to do something stupid, I just know it.

Ultimately, I feel like the only thing I can do is actually talk it through with her. Like Twelve Step. Step one: I admit that I am powerless in Dianna-based situations. It all sounds very final, though. I'm not sure I want to stop this addiction so soon. It's not easy stepping up to the firing line. Once I tell her, she'll either tread so carefully around me that I'll go crazy, or she'll force herself to reciprocate. And God knows the latter would just be the most horrible thing in the world.

She admitted to me once, after excessive cajoling, that that's what happened with Alex. She _thought_ she loved him because he loved her. She let herself fall for him, but it wasn't real. Knowledge of that devastated her, wrecked her. I can't be responsible for that if it happens again. You hear these stories of actors who get settled into a relationship on-screen, and just end up presuming they'd be a good match in real life only to find that, hey, we're _not _the characters we play. Except maybe for me, I'm pretty much Rachel, but more bawdy and with less brains. However, one common feature is that Rachel and I are both most definitely, for real, infatuated with a pretty blonde.

There's been a little uproar from the fans lately. They're fickle and, thingy... persnickety. We gave them Santittany, and they cried out for Quinchel. We gave them Quinchel, and they cried out for Santittany. Rachel's been single for, now let's see, I'll have to count this out on my hands. One, two, then there was 'Cliquety Click', uh, 'Heart Dissection Class', then five, six, seven, oh my gosh, this is number nine. Nine episodes. That's got to be a record for any character on anything. Right?

Then there's that question that everyone knows is lurking around. Can the show take on two female pairings simultaneously? As Chris said to me once: 'Neither can live while the other survives'. It's okay for him: Kurt and Blaine are Ryan's babies; neither of them is _ever _gonna switch to girls. I don't understand why there's such network opposition to a show having more than, like, two or four even remotely gay characters. Of course, the writers may choose the third option that's about to play out before me and send Rachel back to Finn. I'm not sure how I feel about that, even if Cory is fun to work with. Rachel needs to be challenged, and there's no one more challenging than Quinn.

"So why don't you get her back?"

"Mm?" I tip my head to the right and remember that I was having a conversation with Heather before I got distracted by Jon asking me a thousand questions via text, the answer to most of which was 'No!' Yanking her chair out of the mud without actually lifting her ass out of the seat, Heather pulls herself around at a right angle to me, slips off her shoes, rests her ankles on my lap and offers me some of her cotton candy. "I'm good, thanks," I say as I hug her legs to me and lean down for my cup. Now what were we talking about? Oh, yeah. "I could, but I don't like to separate them and, besides, Dianna couldn't, y'know..." I was gonna say sleep over, but I've just tailed off instead.

Heather shrugs and pouts at me. "She _would _keep you from being lonely at night."

Dianna would keep me from being lonely at... oh! Duh. My cat. Yeah, when I'm not at work, LA nights get real quiet. I tend to put the television on and that helps. In fact, the only rest I've gotten is when I've fallen asleep on the couch to the sound of Michael C. Hall's calming voice describing how best to dismember people. It would be so nice to have Sheila back in the house, even if Claude has to stay in NY. I'd have my little one to look after, and I just know she'd make me feel better. "You know what, you're so right. I really need to consider it. Dianna said that she wanted to see them both when we do the filming for Nationals anyway, so maybe I'll just bring her back with me. Sheila, I mean, not Dianna. Well I'd bring her back too." Ha. Ha. Ha. Dianna. Dianna. Dianna. I'm like a stuck record. Get a life. "You're a genius."

"Hey girls, have you seen Di?" I see Naya's bountiful cleavage before I see her smiling face. She grabs at Heather's hands to play with them as they talk about the absence of our leading lady. I pretend to look at my phone, but out of the corner of my eye, I watch. "I was hoping she'd keep me company for a little smoke break and chat."

Absently scrolling through apps, I grip my phone a little tighter. Bite my tongue. It's fine. She'll be fine; Dianna can resist temptation. She's strong. Having smoke blown in her face like it's no big deal sucks a little, though. Her decision, I know, but I want to protect her. I drift a little and think about Dianna puckering her lips around a filter tip. My eyelids flutter closed. Naughty girl, stop that. Smoking is bad. Please stop. My breathing slows. Please stop. I bite the inside of my cheek. Please. A cold breeze chills me suddenly and I'm thrown back to reality. My body is taken over by an involuntary shudder, not unlike the type I get when, in my sleep, I trip down a set of stairs, or more often than not, fall off a stage.

Bright lights blind me as I look over to Heather. Just beyond her, I spy Dianna slinking off with Naya. Her decision. But she hadn't even said hello.

* * *

Will everyone please stop watching Dianna? It's rude to stare. Yes, that _is_ a very nice dress with a sweetheart neckline and an adorable bolero jacket. Yes, she _is_ very hot working that rifle in the shooting gallery. Yes, she _does _have a shapely, ah, forget it. I can't take my eyes off her any more than they can. I'm also stuck in this crowd of crew members and I can't seem to shuffle my way back out, or even convince myself that being here is a super bad idea. I've accepted my fate and am at the edge of this ring, waiting to watch the first punch be thrown. Ready and waiting to flinch.

Mark turns Dianna by the hips and they begin to argue. Take one. Take two. Fluff. Take three. Come on. Come on. Get it done. If my throat gets any tighter, I'll lose my windpipe completely. Oh fuck, the main event is approaching. Can stress make your eyesight bad? I can't focus right. Dianna hands her prize (the huge bear) over to Mark, causing him to stumble backwards. He takes her securely by the hand and shakes his head as he speaks. I can't hear them, but I know the lines. "Chill. Chill. This is purely in the name of friendship."

Dianna sighs and looks at him with contempt. "I'm not in the habit of putting my lips up for hire, Puck, nor am I here tonight to be exploited -"

"Just one kiss, and it's just to, y'know, make someone else jealous. That's all. I promise." He does his cute chipmunk pouty face.

Her jaw tenses and those luscious lashes bat slowly. "Fine. Let's get to it, but remember, if I feel any bulges, I've got a pellet gun within reach."

Wincing, he frowns. "Nuh uh. Not that I don't dig the Fabray love connection, but since when would I need you to help _me _get a chick?"

Equally confused, she replies: "But then... who?"

I can see the scene direction printed in my mind. 'Santana saunters up and Quinn is astonished'. See, it's just not fair; why do they need to make Naya even hotter by putting her in those vampy clothes? Like I said before: I'm nothing next to her. Mark runs off and filming stops while they check the gate.

The crowd dissipates and I'm left with a huge space all around me. Moving back into the fray, I find myself weaving awkwardly between the crush of bodies like a child who's lost her daddy's hand. I hear familiar, girly laughter. Okay. Okay. Maybe that's a good thing. They're not taking it seriously. Shit, yes, this is fine. After all, I've seen Dianna kiss lots of people before and I've always been completely fine about it. I'm just being dorky-dork Lea. Let's slap a smile to my face. There we go. I am the very model of a modern actor-singer... al.

Finally, I find a way through to a darkened corner by the big wheel's exit. It's almost time. And there they are. I'm purely fixated on Dianna, keeping her in view like a sniper tracking a target. She's glancing around, chuckling and being silly and all... Oh! She's spotted me and suddenly it's like all the joy has been sapped from her soul. What does that mean? I feel like she's tossed me a grenade. Blind panic. My pulse is racing. I try to smile even more widely, but now I'm just a clown. It's the same expression people wear when they've found out they've missed out on winning an award, but they know the camera is still trained on them. It hurts like a over-tight Halloween mask. I'm trying so hard to be genuine that I'm almost crying. Grin and bear it.

The torture lasts only seconds before I can drop the act. I'm no longer the center of her attention. Alongside Heather, I'll be filming Rachel Berry's reaction later. So, for all intents and purposes, this feels like the weirdest rehearsal. There's a call for hush and my stomach drops. They're rolling. The alpha females square up.

"Next to Brittany and me you're one of the hottest pieces at McKinley," Naya reassures.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Dianna responds sarcastically.

"And I figured that if kissing guys doesn't get her attention -" Love is totally Santana's Achilles' heel.

"Just get on with it, Santana." She rolls her eyes and checks the time. I see her physically try to loosen up like she's about to undergo an uncomfortable pelvic exam.

"Well thanks for the enthusiasm fail, Miss _Second_-in-Command to the Cheerios." If these two characters do end up in a relationship, they'll be at a constant checkmate. Antlers always locked. That would be tiring to watch. Naya starts gesturing at her own mouth. "If you don't believe these ruby lippers would make you scream 'there's no place like Lopez', then -"

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Dianna yelps.

I knew it was coming and yet it still shocked me. Blam. Dianna has pounced tiger-like on Naya. A gasp bounces out of my throat. My stomach is completely in knots, and my feet feel unsteady on this soft ground. My curiosity is fighting my flight response to such an extent that I'm almost rocking on the spot. I want to be reassured about this. Someone come here and say she and I were hotter. I don't care if I sound spoiled. I'm an only child; it's in my blood.

I hate that I'm so glued to watching them. They smooch in the same fashion as their characters hold a conversation; a power struggle with a strong undercurrent of respect. How are they making it look so easy? For a split second, Dianna's eyes flutter open and I think she's glancing my way. I can't breathe. It's just a fraction of half a moment, but for some reason it puts me at a strange sort of ease. The kiss ends and they pull back. End of take. They look smug. That's okay, right?

Uh, no. My sense of security was entirely false. Dianna's doing her come-to-bed eyes at Naya. It's like someone's just squeaked a cotton ball in my ear and my physical reaction is an intense cringe and shiver. If the look she gave Naya was intentional, then did she just want to make her feel good? Does she find her attractive? If it was unintentional, did it mean nothing at all? She's looked at me like that, like, a thousand times and I took it as a compliment; I even sought it out. What if I misread that sparkle? Maybe she's got a lazy fucking eye and all along I've been thinking: 'Oh, she thinks I'm hot! Sweet!' What if I took our close relationship and fabricated a crush so that I would feel wanted by her? Wow, that's ugly.

Take two, three, five. I've lost count exactly. All I do know is that they're going to Groundhog Day me until my heart completely burns away in the hot, dusty pit of my stomach. I'm already on the verge of needing an antacid. Completely trapped in this moment and forced to watch my beautiful, talented, funny Dianna kiss my beautiful, talented, funny friend.

They have chemistry, I can't deny it. What happens next? What if the fans want Lobray, or whatever they wanna call it? What if they become the new 'it' couple and I'm forced to watch their love bloom from week to week?

I demand Rachel's right to, at the very least, kiss Quinn goodbye. She's an only child too; we should be allowed these special rights. Like I said: it's in our blood.

* * *

Favorite quote right now - Tom - (500) Days of Summer - _"People should be able to say how they feel - how they really feel - not, you know, some words that some strangers put in their mouths."_

"Tell me!" I demand in hushed tones. The question feels so utterly important that I just know I'm gonna struggle even to speak it. "Does she kiss... l-like I used to kiss you?" Tears well in my eyes. I'm burning up. Heat prickles at the back of my neck. Maybe it's due to the lights and the looks from the gathering crew, or simply the heavy dose of Agronaline pumping through my veins. The latter most likely. Much like my character, I _desperately _want to know what her answer would be. Incredibly petty, but my ego could really do with some flattery here, because I'm feeling more than a little crappy.

Dianna's eyes glaze over and she just looks utterly dismayed. There's a hint of a shake to the movement of her head, but she won't let her body language respond on her behalf. Closing her eyes, she replies slowly, breathily and with candor. "You see, this is exactly why we broke up, Rachel." Delicately, she licks her lips and sighs. Beyond her, the lights of various amusements and rides glow in the distance. I can still faintly hear the plink-plonk tune of the carousel on a repeating loop. "Even now you've come to me only to ask for reassurance of your amatory prowess. It's never been about us; only you."

As ever, my character tries to seal the cracks with a glitter glue pen and pretend that she was never at fault. "You speak as though I didn't treat you with the utmost respect when -"

"Respect?" Aghast, her left eyebrow rises dramatically and she bites her tongue. Fighting back her own tears, she looks away from me momentarily before catching my eye for a showdown. But this Mexican stand off isn't about who is stronger; it's about who will give in, crack open their soul and be the first to announce: 'I am human and I make mistakes'. "Rachel, you wouldn't even tell your own fathers about me."

My fists clench at my sides. She too is poised like a gunslinger. It takes me back to a photoshoot we once did; I never did see the proofs for those shots. Such a shame; they were quite something. I wish I could go back to those days when amazing intimacy was expected for the sake of a few pictures that were never even used in print. They can't have been that inflammatory; I had barely even got my thighs out from under that multi-petticoated skirt. I guess any shoot where Dianna is involved instantly becomes twenty percent more sexual; I see that now. She has that effect on any given situation. "I can explain..." Sucking on my bottom lip, I let my eyes dart nervously.

Her arm sharply swooshes past the fabric of her dress as she waves her hand dismissively. "Y'know what? You don't have to; we're not together. You blew it."

"I -"

"Just stop," she pleads, her voice heavily nasal and emotion-overcome. "Stop with the jealousy. Stop with the locker notes detailing the bad qualities of everyone I have ever cared to give a second glance. Stop adding me to mailing lists for troubled teenagers. And most of all, stop acting like you're my girlfriend: you lost that title a long time ago when you decided that I couldn't be trusted to remain true to you." There is just so much pain in her eyes. How does she get every word right with no pauses or stutters?

I feel immensely guilty. The look she's giving me is making me feel like I'm the worst person in the world. It sucks the breath from my chest and makes the midnight sky feel like it's going to collapse around me. Suffocating. Along with mistrust, jealousy is a trait much hated by Dianna, and I'm just overflowing with it. But this isn't my fight, and I can't use it to work out my problems. This isn't about me. Acting has never before felt so personal, but I have to concentrate on my lines or I'll just continue to pepper them with 'uhms' and 'ahs'. "I believe it now. I do! And I insist that you give me a second chance because -"

"Why should I? It was all a fantasy to you; a little game you played with my head." Dianna sneers and her jaw tightens.

"That's not true!" I want to run forward and grab her by the cheeks, force her to look at me straight on. But I can't. Tonight I'm sticking to the script.

"You told me we didn't fit." She stumbles over the words, but purposefully of course. Beautifully. It makes me ache inside.

"I was wrong. You were right, Quinn; I was just being bull-headed and -" I've had to practice this word a lot "- obstreperous." Despite having fairly few lines, this has been one of the hardest scenes to learn. My trailer walls have heard me say 'Because I love you' a thousand times.

"I would have given up everything for you, but each time I opened up, you just locked yourself behind an ever increasing number of doors. And not once did you ever say how you really felt."

I so much want to kiss the tears from her face, press our foreheads together, grasp firmly at her hair and whisper my words against her cheek. I don't know how to convey the strength of the apology brewing inside without physical interaction. "I-I was scared to admit -"

"That we were together?" Hands on hips in the traditional Cheerio stance of dominance, she lifts her chin and sternly pouts her perfect lips.

"Would you _please_ stop interrupting me! My words are not moles and there is no need to 'Whac' them!" I shake my head, tired, frustrated and pissed off. Her pose relaxes a little and she settles for folding her arms defensively over her chest. "Yes," I continue, "I was weak when I should have been strong for you. Yes, I should have believed in your loyalty. And it was thoroughly improper of me to expect you to lie about our situation. But I _promise _you, if you give me another chance, there will be no more secrets."

Her line of sight glides down my body until she gets to my sorry-looking, muddy ballet pumps. Only then does her expression soften considerably. "It's too late. Just forget about me." Turning on her heel slightly, she reaches into her purse and begins searching through its darkened depths.

Blinking hard squeezes single teardrops from each of my eyes. "I can't!" I blurt. Too loud maybe. But, for me, the concept of forgetting a face like hers is so inconceivable, and so I feel justified in my reaction. This is such a complicated battle I have on my hands. This girl before me has been so hurt and neglected. How do you reassure someone like that? Such a fragile shell, so easily cracked. Dianna is sometimes so similar in that regard, except she hides her frailty with smiles, deflection and generosity towards others; she forces her sadness out of her to leave an empty space, whereas Quinn locks it up inside and lets it rot. I want to fill up that space and take away all those insecurities.

Dianna balls up her fist and a bitter reply rips from her throat. "Yes, yes you _can_!"

The anger she's throwing at me is so powerful that I swallow reflexively. "No, I can't." I really can't. I've got my very own little storm whirling inside me like a shaken bottle of soda, and there's no way to make that just go away. She has let down her guard just enough for me to see the true strength of her feelings and I want to give as good as I'm getting. My bottom lip begins to tremble as I come to realize that here and now might be the last situation in which I see this kind of reaction in Dianna. And I want it so damn much it hurts. This made-up world is my emotional sanctuary. Hiding here, right out in the open and for all to see.

"This is _ridiculous_. Why must you always be like this?" she spits out with an added shake of the keys held firmly by her thigh.

Remember. Stick to the lines. Focus. Dianna is waiting patiently for my disclosure. That ultimate statement. Her tongue slips across her lips as she looks to the stars, blinking rapidly. Jesus, she is just so beautiful. I'm building all this tension, all the while knowing that it will just be cut down to create a neat but still powerful scene. I don't care. I'll ride this out. You think it's easy bursting out with something like this? It's not.

In a fleeting moment, our eyes meet and I swear her expression is simply begging me to talk. My body reacts like I've suffered a sudden drop in altitude. The deep breath I was taking is instantly cut in half as the words: "Because I'm in _love _with you" come tumbling out of my mouth. Fuck. Wrong. But it didn't feel that wrong because, despite all my own self-discipline about getting this right, my subconscious took over. It was my own admission. My _own_ admission. Me. And I'm not all that sorry for it. In fact, I feel like crying with happiness because I got it out. I got to say it to her. Step one done. Not that anyone will be any the wiser.

My senses have gone completely blurry. All the rest of the script has escaped my mind. I try not to let my eyes drift to the left where the director and crew are no doubt lined up like a herd of zombies staring hungrily through a mall's locked doors. What do I do? Was my error mild enough to carry on? Do we start over? Dianna just looks so solemn and still. Did she even say her line? What was her line anyway? I want to tell her again, but I can't. Not out loud. I am in love with you, Dianna, I am so in love with you that I could die right now because you're looking at me like you want to catch me as I fall. I never knew that loving someone like this could feel so good and yet so terrible. It makes me want to smile and collapse all at once.

Here comes the laughter. Ha. Ha. Okay, yeah, in their eyes I screwed up a line. Not exactly blooper reel funny, but it's enough for them. Shaking out my arms, I look towards the huddle approaching, except they're not coming to mock me. No, they're forming a gaggle around Dianna. She's smirking awkwardly, mildly embarrassed as she has face powder re-applied. Did I miss something?

Our director, who I find a little stern, approaches. Thumbing through the script, he draws us both near. "Okay, uh, go back to the start. Lea, try not to embellish that love line -" I feel Dianna's hand slip into mine and grip it as tight as possible "-'cause it doesn't really flow as well. Not punchy enough. And Dianna?" I squeeze her hand back even harder as I wait to hear what she did wrong. The jackhammer in my chest feels like it's about to lose control and take out a few ribs.

Pre-emptively, she nods and grins, rolling her eyes. "I know. I'm so sorry. Such a weird blunder." He accepts this and goes off to talk to the first assistant.

Eyes wide, I look at her expectantly. She just leans in to my side, hugs her arms around my waist and nuzzles her head on my shoulder. I turn us away from the cameras so that we're both looking towards the fair. I don't want anyone to see the expression on my face right now. I'm about to mention the director's comments when I hear her muttering something under her breath. It tickles and makes me squirm. It's almost inaudible, but I think she's saying: "Rachel not Lea." Over and over. Over and over. Listen. Yes, it's exactly that.

I panic and I have the urge to say: Wait, no! It was me! Me, myself and I! I said those words and I meant them as me! But then understanding washes over me and my shoulders sag under her weight. I remember the script now. Quinn is supposed to say: 'Then prove it, Rachel.' She must have said my name by accident.

Just a silly mistake. That's all it was.


	22. Let's Play a Love Scene

To fussyviolet: If someone had told me a couple of years ago I'd be writing a story like this, I'd've said they were crackers.  
To yourkat: 'Tis an honour to do so, Molly. (ffnet took your name out because it thought it was a url so I've had to leave the dot out lol)  
To AleatoirePerson: Well... I've not got the timings set out exactly because I'm letting it run at its own pace, so I'm not sure. I don't wanna torture people forever. Oh and your comment on chap 20 about a name slip was right on the money, wasn't it? :)  
To SaneTwin1-2: Silly Megan! Thank you for that amazing review. You praise me too highly.  
To Whispering Molly: Phwoar!  
To Help911: A porno? Um, hold onto that boner... I mean, uh...  
To icesk8er: I can't make them go any faster! I could probably write faster, though. ;)  
To faberrylove: Yes, you must wait. :p But I'm sure any instinct you have about that will be correct.  
To Kdl94: The reference comes earlier:- 'My trailer walls have heard me say 'Because I love you' a thousand times.' That's what she was supposed to have said according to the script. :)  
Note: Strangely, these scenes are set almost exactly a year ago. It's funny how things like that can happen.

* * *

Movie of the day: Pretty Woman - Vivian Ward - _"I appreciate this whole seduction thing you've got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing."_

Look beyond the symmetry; it's those differences that make epic beauty happen. Super dark flecks in one iris. An almost imperceptible curve to the side of her nose only noticeable in certain lights. That ever so slightly deeper crease at the corner of her mouth that's visible even when she's not smiling. Uneven tomboy knees and scarred knuckles. Imperfections creating the perfect; the exceptions proving the rule. We're a sum of our parts, so you gotta have interesting parts, right? Dianna is truly extraordinary and I thank God for any moment in which I'm required simply to take in the sight of her. Stunning.

I watch as she tucks a delicate strand of blonde hair behind her ear and the pounding beneath my rib cage immediately transforms into something more like a hunger rumble. "I'll do it. I'll go out on that stage and I'll tell them all," I say. "If that's what it takes - and I'm entirely aware that it might - I'm ready and able to inform the masses of not just my adamant affection for you, but also my unwavering commitment to the challenge of getting you back." Insistently, I press my hand to my satin-clad waist and step forward. "I will to prove to everyone that I'm incredibly proud to love a girl like you. And most of all, I will prove it to _you_, Quinn."

Tears rising in her eyes, Dianna shakes her head. She has her right hand clasped over the edge of a washbasin and is holding onto the smooth white surface as if her life depends on it. I grab for her wrist, but she has simultaneously reached out for mine. My bad: I was supposed to let her take the lead. Our fingers battle as neither one of us wishes to break eye contact in order to work out how to interlock less awkwardly. The fumble is distracting, but oddly, y'know, gorgeous. "A girl like me?" she sighs, one eyebrow raised, hinting at her self-doubt. Her free arm slumps to her side and crushes the fabric of that ever so pretty prom dress. "You mean a psychological mess."

My bottom lip shudders as I feel her thumb drag firmly over my palm, her nail scoring down the length of my life line. I falter and stumble into my objection. "W-what? No. No. Not at all. You give yourself too little credit. You may think that everyone around here sees a girl who once fell from the top and lost her way -" pause for effect "- but I see a woman who has fought again and again for her bright future. That kind of dedication and strength of will is what I admire most about you." Reluctantly, I drag my grasp from hers, almost shaking her hand away as if it were stuck to me by some kind of static bond. I give my reflection a cursory glance, noticing how intently she's looking at me. "And that's why I need to go sing my song now, because you need to realize something... apart we're both special, but together we're a whole lot more than that -" I catch her eye in the mirror "- together we're _amazing_." Inside I'm trembling. I keep thinking about Jon's warnings. I shouldn't have a secret smirk on my lips. I shouldn't be so fucking excited for this. But I am. "You can test me to my limits, Quinn, and I'll always be here, waiting for you. I'll be your constant whether you like it or not." I run my pinkie finger over the outline of my lips and snap shut my little purse. Time to leave.

"Stop," she warns abruptly, skipping past to block my way.

I feel myself stand a little straighter as an instant reaction, my spine stiffening in keen anticipation. I know they all say that being watched by so many eyes, by the world, should kill my feelings. I've heard it a thousand times. Just a kiss. Just another day at the office. But this is just another beautiful exception, right? The path I chose. However messed up it might be, I can at least say that I stand by my decisions. I didn't get where I am today by being half-hearted. I lick my lips and watch as she lightly presses her tongue against the back of her front teeth. "Please excuse me, my stage is calling," I say, though my heart is begging me to skip to the real action. Nevertheless, before I know it, I'm out the door.

All stop. Okay, I admit it: Hollywood TV magic ain't so blissful when you have to wait thirty minutes for the crew to set up the hallway scene. Patience. Read a book. Hear someone's life story. Learn Japanese. Stand aside: this girl is on a mission to make time run that little bit faster. One, two, breathe. Annoyingly, I now need to use the bathroom.

* * *

"Go wrap yourself in Noah's arms and prepare for your heart to be broken by the beauty and intensity of the words that I'll be singing to you and _only_ to you." I'm rushing my lines even more than usual due to the dizzying, feverish sensation in my head. Turning away, I stride my way along the polished floor, almost slipping out of my slightly too large heels. Ever determined and certain. One hundred percent Rachel Berry. The girl who now knows exactly what she wants, and has every intention of getting it. Red hot with inner confidence and super self-assured. I hear steps chasing my own in time with the pace of my heartbeat.

This is it. The pivotal moment. The payoff. The end of Rachel's quest to get her girl back. After committing such good deeds as convincing Shelby to let Quinn see Beth, offering to give up a solo for Nationals, convincing Coach Sylvester to promote Quinn back to head cheerleader, and pissing off Figgins by campaigning for Kurt and Blaine to attend prom as an official couple (such fun with my boys), her most recent act was an anonymous, altruistic one. Long ago Quinn tossed away her necklace during a moment of intense sadness. Well, guess who bought her an elegant new cross and placed it in her locker with an inspiring note? Perfect, huh? And, of course, Puck let slip about it halfway through the evening. I think we stayed on the right side of schmaltzy, yeah? Well, okay, a little cheesy, but this is a teen comedy drama; we have certain cutesy standards to live up to. Sometimes you have to temper the salty with a whole lotta sweet. Besides, the necklace thing was my idea, so no one is allowed to say it was bad. After all, I'm well aware of the respect needed in a Catholic/Jewish relationship, being a baby Cashew myself.

The cameras glide into place. Okay. Concentrate. Facing away from Dianna, I listen to her dark, sultry voice as it pierces the silence. "That's enough, Rachel," she warns. I stop on my marker. The hairs at the back of my neck rise. I feel exhilarated. I feel naughty. I feel like a teenager who has snuck out of her family home late at night just to be here. A semi-sordid pleasure. I'm aching for this. I bite my lip, hold my tongue and frown. On the edge of antici... pation. God, this is the strangest kind of self-indulgent bliss. I close my eyes and wish everyone else away. I want no one here but me and Dianna, and to be in a world where she wants me as much as I want her. My insides clench suddenly, not with joy, but with a little cold reality that makes my stomach churn. "It's enough," she whispers kindly. A chill runs down my throat. I didn't plan on getting nervous.

Come on. Come on. I have this golden and precious opportunity. This is no time for stage fright. I don't care if I'm breaking the rules. I don't care if, technically, I'm cheating. It's just a kiss, and I want it more than I can reveal. What Theo doesn't know won't hurt him. What Dianna doesn't know won't hurt her. I just know that I'll get hurt if I _don't_ get to kiss her; I'd just burst and die or something, so I'm taking this little piece of fate and calling it destiny. No regrets. Today those lips are mine.

I brace myself as a single footstep echoes in my ears. My rib cage feels like it's being compressed by the ghost of a hold I haven't yet experienced. Suddenly her fingers slip around my waist and dig roughly at my sides. She yanks me around. Oh God, that was... Jesus, that felt incredible. Painful, but in just the right sort of way. An 'I need you now' kind of gesture. "Does that mean what I think it means?" I whisper, almost unable to pull my gaze from her mouth to her eyes, as she rubs at my sore ribs with her thumbs.

A few seconds until I go overboard. I feel like I should be holding my breath. She looks so contemplative with those magical eyes sparkling. I have all sorts of words on the tip of my tongue struggling not to come out. My stomach is jumping and causing my breath to catch and hitch. No pretence here. This look of desire is totally my own. I feel faint. There's so little oxygen to be found when I'm drowning in those luscious, hazel eyes. I could do with some kind of resuscitation here, Dianna. Come on, baby, press your hands to my heart and breathe the life back into my lungs. Quit the hesitation, girl - my knees are already buckling with the heat from your body even though you're barely touching me.

Sorrow fights elation in her expression. Please? Now? Oh, fuck this torture. "Please just kiss me. I'm extremely impatient when waiting for rewards." I'll ad lib the shit out of this scene. After all, retakes are in my favor. She looks relieved and... oh God. I'm crushed up against her; she pulled me there and is now tugging at my back and almost lifting me free of my shoes. The tips of our noses slide past each other. My eyelashes flutter shut of their own accord. Her lips sink down to mine. It's all flooding back. The seductive nudging. The softness. Christ, the softness of her is unbelievable.

My arms are just hanging limp. What a waste! But where to touch? I find myself waving my hands over the shape of her body, not knowing where to settle. Some real sexy flailing there, Lea. Dork. Calm the fuck down. Ass, no, hips, no, waist, no, back. Yes, back. My hips are craving that pressure that I really cannot seek right now. My fingers find the zipper in her dress, and I drag my palm down the length of it. I feel so alive. But... her mouth has just left mine. My life source gone. I drop back down, from tiptoe to standing, causing a pain in my feet that I don't appreciate.

"No more pushing," she says simply, but not unemotionally. Dianna always has Quinn quietly breaking down her own barriers.

I need to find a little composure here. Okay... "It wasn't so bad. And, thanks to you, I've achieved so much more than I ever thought possible." I take her by the hands. "Never, ever stop pushing for the best, Quinn. You deserve nothing less." I smile cheekily. "Of course, it just so happens that I _am_ the best."

She smirks knowingly. "The best for me?"

"Uh, yes, of course. For you," I reply. She grasps my cheeks, preparing for an additional kiss. "And just in general too," I add.

I'm denied a kiss. Instead, we laugh unreservedly, which is pretty much a first for our characters. This episode will see them save the last dance for each other. And, just this once, Rachel will let someone else take her spot on the stage and sing a love song.

* * *

'Psyche Up' playlist highlight: Brandi Carlile - The Story - _"You see the smile that's on my mouth; it's hiding the words that don't come out. And all of our friends who think that I'm blessed; they don't know my head is a mess."_

"So which do you wanna do first?" Ryan asks casually. He's directing.

We give our replies at the exact same moment. They're opposing answers. Whatever. "Yeah, I'll go with that. I'm not entirely fussed anyhow," I concede with a lie. This is all a little unusual. I do, however, trust Ryan. After we had to re-shoot tamer versions of our kiss for the 1930s episode, it seems wise to present a 'hotter' version of this scene just so it can be turned down in favor of the scene we'll shoot immediately after. It will save time and money.

I take another look around and give the bed a prod. Rachel Berry did well; this is a very nice NYC hotel room. Rather, it's a very nice bedroom in LA pretending to be an NYC hotel room. When Nationals goes off with a whimper, we're going off with a big bang for the finale. Yeah, I'm so bad at puns. This isn't the time for being funny anyway. This is far too delicate a subject.

"Regardless, you don't need to go Spring Awakening on us, Lea," he adds jokingly, or at least half so.

"Really?" I pat him on the chest and giggle. I'm used to people referencing an artistic decision I made years ago, but today - for the first time ever - it bothers me. I don't want him to know, though. "Maybe the sight of my tits or Dianna's bare ass might sway the censors towards the naughty." Yep, I actually just said that; I can't believe it either. So much for not being facetious.

I've made Dianna turn pink. Now puce. Now pale. Now normal. I don't want to come off as an arrogant bitch, so I quickly take her over to the window seat and we flop down in our large white robes. I'm all stutters and malformed sentences. This is the last scene she and I will be filming alone until the new season begins. This non-reality is fast slipping through my fingers and, to be honest, I'm frightened of going cold turkey. Crazy but true. The tour, though fun, won't bring me anything like this.

Dianna looks like she wants to say something. It's not happening. She's shy I guess. Embarrassed? I know I am. Up until about twenty minutes ago, I was buzzing. I was looking forward to a nice romantic scene, but then I thought about it deeply and read the script a few times more. It's a _huge_ deal for my character. I wanted this for _her_ long before I ever lay awake at night dreaming of it for myself. And besides, I shouldn't get off on this. That would be a bridge too far. A kiss is fair game, but I respect Dianna too much to use her in some kind of sick self-inflicted, pseudo-mastubatory display, in front of a camera no less. No. No more taking any kind of pleasure from her via my character. It all stops here. I've been a professional since forever and a day. It's gonna be all external and no internal.

Dianna suddenly looks like a startled bird. "So important," she says with a nod, eyes darting back and forth to the bed and around the room. Did I black out and miss a part of this conversation? "Lea, I have very little concept of..." She loses her words. "I know that there's no real difference between..." Stopping again, she scratches beneath her ear. My heart is casually trying to beat its way out of my chest. What is she trying to say? I'm desperate to finish each of those sentences, but I have to wait. Her jaw tenses and she nibbles on her bottom lip. I find myself staring at her shiny, white teeth as they nip and tear at plump, pink flesh. "So important." I know she loves riddles, but this is fucking ridiculous. "I don't know if I can do this," she states frankly. Finally.

"Of course you can." I take her hand and rub gently at her knuckles. She's as cold as ice. "I'll look after you, 'kay? Just pretend I'm one of the boys or something." Ugh. I could slap myself for saying that. Ugh again. Okay. Right, now's the time to make her laugh. Here goes. "I... " I got nothing. "You'll be fine. Cross my heart." I see her hand in mine and try not to think about where I'd like her to place it. The more I try not to think about it, the more I end up wanting to kiss her fingertips.

"Okay, sure," she mutters absently. When someone looks up to their left, does it mean they're remembering or visualising? I want to know every one of her thoughts.

Well, it's not illegal to ask. "What are you thinking about?"

"May I... be on top?' she blurts. "I think it would help."

May I throw up? I think it might help too.

* * *

I see flashes of her face through my madly blinking eyes. Pushing my head back into the pillow, I try to inhale deeply through inconsistent breaths.

"Are you okay?" Dianna asks sweetly.

"Yes, absolutely," I reply with a frown.

"But you're shaking like a leaf."

I literally feel like I'm having a seizure. I was less nervous when I lost my _own_ virginity. I need an out of body experience, like, stat, or preferably two minutes ago. My breathing is ragged and halfway to hyperventilation. "So very little scares me, Quinn, but this... this terrifies me." She looks appropriately panicked and goes to move away, but I pull her back. Her night dress pushes up a little and our bare thighs slide against each other. Naturally, I tense up. "That doesn't mean that I don't want it." I need to loosen up. Breathe. There are so many people looking at me. There's no cover of darkness, no wash of rain. I may as well be on stage with Jon. I can do this. I can be Rachel and forget that I'm in love with Dianna. Just for today. Forget. "I want this."

Her stomach leans against my side as she places a kiss onto my pouting lips. My top is riding up and rumpling dangerously high. I really don't want Dianna to reach down and get a handful of naked breast. My eyes have begun to water, burgeoning with tears. She pulls back and looks at me worried. I just nod and give her a brief smile. I'm pretty sure that was her, and not her character.

I want her whole weight on me. No, no. I mustn't. Shit, I really can't want that. She gets closer again, nuzzling in as her right hand slides from my shoulder to my cheek. She begins rubbing behind my ear with her fingertips. So nice. Just the kind of nice that has me wanting to purr and curl up. My neck becomes wet from her mouth and then is cooled by her soft breath. Shit, I think I've died. I'm just a mess of heartbeats. Every part of me seemingly with a different pulse, and all about to flatline. I squeeze shut my eyes to control the dizziness, but all I see are stars. Prepare the crash cart, please. I need to remember that she wanted to perform the hot version first, so I've got to amp this up. It seems strange to _try_ and film something worthy of being cut. The suspicious part of me fully expects this to get leaked somehow, but maybe that's a little pessimistic.

I press my ass into the bed, arch my spine and gasp silently. There. That will do. That's a bit porny. I'm not going to moan for anyone. Tough shit. Dianna's hair slides across my throat and I freeze. I hear her whispering. Not a line from the script. Did I get that right? Is she really telling me that she has always loved me? I feel like... like... Is that real? Is she playing? Or is she just throwing that in because the exhilaration I'm feeling right now is more... oh, wait. I'm reminded of that scene where she lay dying in my arms. That's what I said to her and word for word she's just repeated it back to me. Fuck. I thought... I'd always hoped. Never mind. The camera is to my right so I look to my left and try not to cry.

I need to get a grip before all my thoughts turn into a collection of Madonna's lyrics from the eighties. I can't I let this happen. Fucking lame ass. I need to act like I know what I'm doing and get over it. Face facts. Dianna and me is _never_ gonna happen. I feel her roll slightly and her pelvic bone knocks me sharply in the exact region we needed to stay well away from: right on these tiny pink shorts. The shock of unexpected pleasurable forces a loud noise from my throat as I take a sharp breath. As I exhale, a small sob comes with it. I have to get out of here before I start blubbing. "Sorry," I whisper. "I can't."

"Lea?" Dianna's frowning hard. I feel so evil. She thinks she's hurt me. I have to undo that.

I shuffle out from beneath her and make my apologies. I can't look at anyone, but I have to make an excuse. Pointing at my throat, I gasp and cough genuinely. "Air went down the wrong way and I kinda choked there." _Air_ went down the wrong way? That doesn't even make sense! I laugh and act stupid. "I need to pee," I tell no one in particular as I sling a robe around my shoulders and shuffle into the en-suite in a pair of hastily slipped on flip-flops. All alone, I slump to the floor in a big white toweling heap. Hands clutching at my hair, I stare at the tiles. It's no good; no one could live this way. You'd have to be crazy... or a saint. I hear two little raps on the door.

"Lea?" It's Dianna. "You okay?"

Apart from feeling like hell, sure. "Yup." I close my eyes.

"I asked for coffee for us, so, y'know, come out when you're ready. No hurry." She taps on the door three times. Without even thinking, I reach over my head and do the same. We haven't done that in forever. It used to be a joke, or a good luck. For all those occasions when you can't say it out loud, that's what we used to do. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I. Love. You.

* * *

Book by my bedside: Jonathan Tropper - 'This Is Where I Leave You' - _"You have to look at what you have right in front of you, at what it could be, and stop measuring it against what you've lost."_

I wipe at my cheeks with my sleeves and wait (im)patiently, bouncing on the spot. There are no lights on in the house. I don't think anyone is home. Maybe it's a sign that I shouldn't be here. I step back, then immediately step forward and this time try a knock. Okay, yeah, she's not there. Definite sign. I should go to Jenna's instead. Clunk. The door swings open and my bottom lip starts wobbling as soon as I see Dianna. I'm not even all that sure how I managed to get here with all these tears obscuring my vision as I drove.

"Fuck," she says under her breath, stepping out and checking me over for damage. "Come in. What happened?"

Through tiny gaps in deep breaths, I tell her. "Big mess... fight with Theo over... over phone... " I shudder as she sets me down on the sofa and puts a blanket around my shoulders. It smells like her. I drag my hand over my face again and exhale slowly. "He was being an ass and saying that I shouldn't have got so worked up over our scene, you know, our scene, because it was with a girl and he was joking about how it's not like it could have been all that intimate with no you-know-what to think about, but it's not about that, is it?" In the candle light I can see her nodding and shaking her head at all the right moments. "And I said that he was being a jerk." I pick up the hem of her shirt and try to examine it more closely. I think it's an Anthropologie Edun Bee tee. And her hair is tied up in a tiny ponytail. She looks so cute it breaks me. "And then there was all this shit about... is your power off?" I ask with a sniff as she passes me a box of tissues and I blow my nose.

"It's Earth Hour."

I stare at her, mouth agape, twisting my ring around and around my finger. I could never be the same without her. "Oh, yeah." Frowning, I start to cry again. It doesn't matter that Theo and I had already grown apart. Breaking up is always hard to do.

"We'll be in New York in a couple of days. You'll be able to see him and patch things up," she says softly, rubbing my back and squeezing up against my side.

I just want it to be over. How do I tell her that? I pull out of the cuddle and sit back against a cushion. "He said he'd been jealous of me working with Ashton, but not with you." She reaches out for me and dabs at my cheeks with a tissue, avoiding eye contact. I shouldn't be here, but I'm, like, barefoot and halfway across these hot coals so I've got to keep on walking. "He said you and I don't have all that much chemistry, but I think we do." Her hands drop to her lap and she stares into the flame of a candle. If I ask this question, will I get a diplomatic answer? "We do, don't we?" I ask, through a sob. Stupidly and unexpectedly I add: "Please tell me we do."

Dianna reaches back up and this time pushes her thumbs against where my dimples normally are, as if she's trying to get me to smile. I wish it were brighter in here. I can barely see her. Nor can I hear her over the sounds of my own shuddering breaths. Her chest falls with a sigh. "In my opinion, we have the best chemistry," she announces proudly then laughs gloriously, but I can hear that she's on the verge of tears. "So you can tell him I said that."

"Do you really want me to be with him?" I have to know. She neatens my hair and then holds my wrists.

"I don't want you to be with anyone -" her voice cracks "- who doesn't make you happy."

I've said it before: Dianna loves so easily. Surely... surely she could fall for me. I'd gladly have her pick me as one of her next temporary conquests. Anything just to be close to her with no script getting in the way. My throat becomes tight and sore and I can't get any words out. I just shake my head to imply that Theo doesn't make me happy. Not the way that she does. I go in for a hug and hold her as tight as possible. Wetting her neck and jaw with my tears. I feel her fingers running through my hair and I just want to stay like this indefinitely. I murmur contentedly.

She begins trembling like crazy. I pull back to see if she's okay. She looks kinda shell-shocked. "Can I ask you..." She stops to bite her lip. "No."

What? Ask me what? "Just ask." I don't want her to mince her words. "I'll tell you straight."

"I'm sorry. I can't."

Is it too much to hope that her question was about my feelings for her? I'm too tired to fight, so I just fall against her body and pull the blanket around us both. I'll take this for now. Just for good measure, I give an answer in the form of three light playful taps to her shoulder, though perhaps I should have counted out seven because I am _so_ in love with her.


	23. Waving and Drowning

Achelesox, I so wanted to get this written in time for your birthday, but instead I shall just have to dedicate it to you. :)

* * *

_"My love is like a stone tied round my neck; it's dragging me down to the bottom; but I love my stone. I can't live without it." _- Madame Ranevskaya - 'The Cherry Orchard'

Waves of pain radiate south, originating at the nape of my neck and descending toward my shoulder blades. My right leg is on the verge of falling asleep. An incessant tickle at my ear is making me want to pinch shut my eyes, and a slender elbow is jammed hard against my hip making me want to growl. So incredibly uncomfortable, I'm forced to bite my lip to discourage tears. Worst, worst, worst of all: this is still the _absolute _best I've felt in weeks. Such is this wonderful, ridiculous life.

I need this hard crush, clash of bone and too firm embrace of limbs. In fact, I created it; moved underneath her until her weight struck at particular pressure points. This physical intensity helps blot out the euphoria brought about by her tactility, and I invite the hot, ticklish prickle that has arisen in every location where her body meets mine. Let it burn sharply so that I can keep a semblance of sanity; that I might maintain my super-awake vigilance and achieve that seemingly unobtainable balance between exhilaration and remorse. I will forever be chasing the ends of rainbows, but there are worse ways to occupy my free time, no?

We lie here as if two lovers aboard a ship on stormy seas, taking desperate but familiar comfort in each other's arms as water gushes across a creaking deck and hail-laden, whistling gales whip at shredded sails. Her knee slips and nudges mine. Lightning strikes inside me and my spine stiffens. I try not to touch lower than her back, try not to inhale the scent of her hair, and resist sinking into the murky depths of my delirium. No, the contact she grants me is all I'll take. But, my gosh, my God, I'm aching for more. She's so real against me, and the stiller my repose, the more distinct every single one of her uneven inhalations become. We haven't been this close since -

A finger is raised before my lips as an indicator for me to pay attention and shush. Not that anything more than a soft mewl has escaped my throat in the last few minutes. "It's so quiet!" Lea exclaims with child-like wonder, her voice still scratched with emotion.

Quiet? Is it? The cacophony of thoughts running and rampaging through my mind whenever I'm with her rarely ceases sufficiently long enough for me to notice the silence. I pause for a moment, meditate away the frequent flurry of questions, and listen intently. Concentrate. My other senses calmed, I note the faint cry of an infant; a warm breeze rustling leaves in the trees; birds singing; up-tempo jazz music and, elsewhere, a deftly-plucked Moroccan-esque guitar tune.

It may be calm in my home due to my over-enthusiasm for switching off electricals on this particular anniversary (shut them _all _down!), but the world's vibrancy never ceases and is even more noticeable through my open window. Nonetheless, she is quite correct: it is very quiet. "Yeah, I -" In the distance a car screeches to a halt and an aggravated honk blares loudly. Lea laughs at the irony; a much more agreeable sound to penetrate the hush. It distracts me, so much so that I begin to chuckle.

Her warm breath tickles my jaw as she uneasily shifts further up my body and the pugilistic tea party currently being hosted in my abdomen reaches a violent pinnacle; the familiar clashing fists of sensation punch at my stomach walls, while cup, spoon and saucer tinkle and crash against one another inharmoniously as cake is thrown violently at the ceiling. Smash. Smash. Clatter. Bang. Spludge. We have spent many an hour together, my discomfort and I; I don't think I'd feel quite right without it. It seems wanton to desire it, but I do. I _always _do.

Lea wriggles against me, accidentally releasing me of my minor physical traumas and causing a resurgence of all the thoughts previously invading my mind. They make my blood rush. Chemistry. She cares about our chemistry. What on earth is going on in the complex mind behind that pretty furrowed brow? I am spectacularly confused about that. Well, no change there, then.

When she first told me the news about Theo, the strain not to jump and throw my fist skyward was almost impossible to bear, but I didn't wish my subsequent concern to appear disingenuous. I did, and do, genuinely care. I'd never wish a break-up on anyone. As for how I feel about it now, well, it would seem - having successfully surmounted the ladder of envy - I've now fallen directly into a heap of schadenfreude quicksand. The trap crept up on me. So here I am, waist deep and, as the poem goes: not waving but drowning.

To cap it all, somehow, somewhy, it was _my _fault. All because Theo wasn't even the remotest bit jealous of my interaction with her. Can that be right? Maybe I misheard. How I wish I could replay her words like I have done with so many of our scenes together. How I _wish_. But, despite my hopeless situation, I have her here with me. Vulnerable and alone, she came to me for succor. I feel so unworthy, I could weep with joy. Yes, she came to me and I must, as ever, keep a firm lid on my less-helpful emotions.

Yet... I can't help consider her words... it was the way she said them. It will forever haunt me. Worked up. Worked... up? I recall the day we filmed our bed scene: the flush in her cheeks and her shocked reactions to my touch; it was if I had burned her. Again and again she had squirmed beneath me. At the time, I had planned on cooling my desires by visualizing other things, but ultimately I had no need for mental images of squidgy-bodied manatees or snow-filled dreamscapes because I was altogether too worried about her. The distress in her eyes had been all too visible, and so the torment in my heart all the more hidden.

But why? Why, when she had long ago assured me that any form of simulated sex scene was the smallest of deals for her. So... why? Why worked up? Take on take she had frowned through our kisses and almost bitten blood from her lips. Two times she had blamed some sort of sickness, but the unidentified fever seemed to induce an altogether different type of glow to her skin. Lea is a trooper in the worst of situations, but that day it was as if I had broken some sort of personal boundary. It made her shy and embarrassed. Perhaps it was the idea of sexual intimacy with me that repulsed her.

I'm resisting touching her too much even now for fear of being too bold. I don't want her to be reminded of that day, and of the events that inspired an argument with her ex (I still can't quite believe it) boyfriend. However, she's the one who seems to now be re-creating our final takes, and by that I mean those where Lea had requested for Rachel to top Quinn. Only then had she melted into her character and relaxed. Was it about control? Did she not trust me? I would never have taken advantage. I'm heavily endowed with self-restraint. After all, I could - if asked - provide a five page résumé detailing a variety of examples of how I've continued to master that particular skill.

That doesn't mean she hasn't, at times, unintentionally driven me to the brink of heaven and back. Much to my shame and, admittedly, not her fault. But I've always successfully scrubbed those feelings away, forgiven myself and moved on. I think I've been a good friend to her. I hope I have. I have given nothing but my level best.

Oh. Oh my.

This faint light gives me no visual warnings, and I've just felt her hand slip up my side. She's now tracing along the fabric of my neckline, fingertips occasionally brushing my skin. Excruciatingly nice. Sometimes I think she does it to tease and test me. Like she's known all along, and wants to see if she can make me break. What would happen if I do break? What happens if she _never _stops testing me? Would I ever willingly step off this merry-go-round? I'm so familiar with the sound of grinding gears, the repeating melody and bright, lurid colors that seem to leave perpetual patterns on my retinas. Despite the constant, unyielding dizziness, I know I'd miss this surreal ride.

I would love to proclaim that I have matured in recent months, however there is the distinct possibility that I have regressed. Only yesterday I was comparing my personal social structure to a certain child's constructible plastic toy. Of course, it was a very in-depth analogy about the various peg-on appendages and the major facial features being family members and friends: parents to look out for you; a brother to sniff out trouble; friends to listen. And should, for example, the eyes become broken, they can be replaced, if temporarily, with an ear or even an arm and so on. I tend to compensate for a lack of lips by slapping on a variety of shapely hats, but it's never quite the same. I feel very lucky, though, that I have a potato at all... and with so, so many accessories. Lucky, lucky girl.

I digress. The point is that I have de-aged or something, and everyone is welcome to come play Indians and Dragons in my treehouse daily at noon. Wear sturdy shoes because the ladder's rungs have many imaginary splinters in them.

Lea raises her chin and looks at me. With a serious expression, she simply utters: "Hey."

"Hey." My sinuses have begun to sting sharply, and a shudder is rippling its way across my abdomen. I wonder if she can feel it.

"Dianna, I..." Her brow knits and an internal struggle glimmers in her eyes. I feel her stomach muscles contract as she taps rhythmically at my collar bone.

Perhaps our physical proximity has suddenly shocked her. We've spent so many hours locked in each other's arms for the sake of the camera, that it's come as a strange surprise that tonight there's no pre-planned performance to give. She's probably trying to remind herself of how we used to be. I'm happy for her to pick any time, any place, any us. So long as there is definitely an us. "Sorry," I mutter for no particular reason. She doesn't move off me like thought she would, but merely locks my gaze with hers and looks at me searchingly.

Her hand has returned to my side, this time squeezing my ribs. She dips her head and looks down towards my waist. My self-restraint wavers and my fingers drift lightly through her bangs. I need to stop now. Stop before I make a fool of myself with this emotionally-exposed woman and damage us both. And also stop before she notices that, despite my body being hot to the touch, my breasts have reacted as if cold and very evident are two points, which a bra - had I been wearing one - would have conventionally concealed beneath my shirt.

"Allez hop," I say faux-cheerfully. Abruptly sitting up, she is forced off me. I try to be as nice about it as possible as I don't want her thinking that she's made me feel trapped. I smile, cross my arms and let her adjust my hair, which she says is beautifully mussed. This is no good. I'm being of no use. I'm supposed to be providing inspiration for her bright future in the land of singledom, not sitting here in a cloud of Lea-induced tingles.

All I've brought is silence and cuddles. Other people would come prepared with some sort of food and chatter on how Theo is a rat bastard (the latter I may be able to provide). I should be good at this! With anyone else I would be fine, super, supreme! But it's Lea, and everything, absolutely everything is different when I'm around her. It's not easy, but it is oh so beautiful. I promised myself that I wouldn't feel sorry for myself. No exceptions. I am not the priority here. What Lea wants, Lea gets.

I clear my throat. "Golly, I'm just the worst host! Do you want some Zico?" I ask. "I have Zico." I always have Zico. Oh! And carob chips and agave nectar, yes, and most other things too. "I'll make you your favorite," I announce, wide-eyed. She doesn't make a sound. I watch as she leans forward, stares at a candle and waves her finger through the tip of the flickering flame. "Would you like that?" I try. The profile of her pouting lips is a sublime sideways-on heart shape. Framed by this amber incandescent glow, she makes my breath stop short. "Would you, love?" I whisper.

Turning towards me, her dark eyes blink lazily, still wet with tears. "Huh?"

I want to kiss the bridge of her nose. "Ice cream." It seems to come out in a heave of breath and has a touch of a grunt about it. Tonight I, Dianna, am no longer simply woman, but now Neanderthal too. Hear me roar. I can't help it: a loud belly laugh comes out and then immediately stops. "Sorry." Someone fetch a muzzle. "Chocolate Coconut...? I still have that maker... thing, you know, you know I do."

Lea sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and tilts her head to one side, frowning and looking at me like I'd just suggested a little night-time tightrope walk. Shaking her head, she replies. "That's super sweet of you, but I'm not having you stumbling around the kitchen in the dark, trying to make me comfort food, Dianna. You'd accidentally get your arm stuck in the mechanism or something."

I object! I think. "The hour will be over soon," I offer, bargaining for my chance to compensate for my failure at best friend duties.

She pats around behind her, eventually retrieving the blanket, this time to swathe around her middle. "I like the dark tonight. Can it stay dark?" she asks.

I'd take an ax to the power lines if I thought it would make her happy. "Sure. Why not." Or, less dramatically, I could just leave the lights out.

Her tongue wets the corner of her mouth as she scratches at her temple. "Dianna, do you ever think about the kiss we never had?"

Insecurely, I pull back into the shadowy side of the couch and bring my knees to my chest. Chemistry. Worked up. The kiss we never had. How can this not be a test? She must know. Someone has finally told her. That, or she's seen it in anything and everything from my lustful silences on hearing the smallest of her sighs, to the hugs when I had to remind myself not to squeeze the life out of her. Is that why she freaked at our sex scene?

I've not been very effective at concealing it. The love, I mean. I wish I was full of bravado and could just lay it all out straight. As it is, I'll just have to continue to suffer the mini-interventions my friends often stage over dinner. Those-that-know (my collective name for a particular circle of friends from whom I hide nothing) think I'm crazy. And I love those-that-know for reminding me of this. They are such sweethearts. I need that thrice weekly choral declaration of 'just tell her'; it makes me feel fortunate that I have someone by whom to be lovestruck. It's just unfortunate that I feel the need to keep Lea from those friends for fear that they would make short work of forcing an announcement out of me. Oh well, one day.

Lea turns away from me, shifting to the edge of the couch and over towards the largest candle. She's now pressing at its softened edges and allowing a stream of molten wax to slide onto the gold dish underneath, where it immediately cools and hardens. She doesn't have to be an amazing singer or brilliant actress for me to be in awe of her; I just am. Even now I find myself smiling at her playfulness as she pokes faces in the wax. Sometimes, quite simply, her presence alone fills me up with a glorious, magical wonderment. If I went to a blood drive right this minute, I'm a' bettin' mine'd come out sparkling and effervescent.

With curiosity, I narrow my gaze. Lea is blowing out her cheeks and... 'puff' 'puff' 'puff'. Aha. Everything is now tinged gray and our only light source comes from the very little that slips between the blinds. A pleasant sulphurous smoke has filled the air and makes me twitch my nose like Samantha Stephens casting a spell. It was difficult enough to see before; now it's almost impossible. No sounds. No sights. Just thoughts. Thoughts and the awareness of her every movement. And... hang on. What exactly does she mean 'the kiss we never had'?

* * *

_"I'm going to give you an opportunity: get out of this. Now. Before it gets so fucked up nobody could ever recover." _- Charlie Barret - 'Suicide Kings'

Let's play for time while I think. If she wants a battle of questions, I'll start with an easy one: "Why, when so many people call me Di, do you call me Dianna?" The clock is ticking. Distract. Distract.

The outline of her shoulders quickly rises into a shrug. "Same reason Amber calls me Munchkin even though I'm taller. So do you? Do you think about it?"

That's some persistence. Giving in, I flick through our many kisses in my mind as quickly as if they were stacked up on a Rolodex of memories. It gives me butterflies, large ones, dragon-like ones, strangely enough. Fire and teeth join the broad wings currently unfurling in my belly. It hurts in the best way imaginable. So... a kiss we never had. A riddle? I like riddles. Does she mean on the show? Does she mean in real life? I can think of hundreds of occasions when I almost stepped beyond my limits and took a chance, but I doubt it's as simple as that.

More importantly, why has it crossed her mind at all? I'll sandwich my reply in with something else. "Are you okay? Of course you're not okay. Silly. Sorry. Uh, would you like some wine? I'm _pretty_ sure I can uncork in the dark without getting my arm stuck in the bottle." A poor attempt at sarcasm. Okay. Quick. Casual. "Exactly how do you _never _have a kiss?" Attempt two at sarcasm and I've made it sound like I've misunderstood her meaning entirely. "Munchkin," I add with an air of jollity. What a mess. Stop. Stop.

I feel a light slap to my shin and so let my legs slump back down as I grab a cushion to hug. Armed and ready. Hardly Kevlar, but it will do. Lea comes steadily closer. I think she's now kneeling beside me. My eyesight is gradually compensating: shapes are re-appearing. Yes, she's sitting back on her heels, perpendicular to me with her knees pressing at the side of my thigh. Her attention is centered on me. "Y'know... the first kiss," she says calmly.

Blood pounds in my ears. The kiss in the auditorium? But we had that one. "I don't -" Reaching out, she places her right hand over mine and begins rubbing circles over the pronounced joint at the base of my thumb. The problem with quicksand is that you have to be very still, and there's always the possibility that no one will come to your aid. If I move, I'll sink faster.

"The one that began it all; the one we never got to shoot."

Life moves by so fast. She's asking me to think back to October time and remember something that never happened. A faint bell rings at the back of my mind.

"Well, it's not so much that we didn't get to shoot it as it was scripted to have already taken place during a blackout," she explains.

Oh! "Oh!" Yes! The bell becomes that large gong you see during the idents of old British movies. Bong. It reverberates in my head and makes me feel stupid. How could I have forgotten? I remember the script now and... oh my God, why did Lea blow out the candles? What's going on? Surely she's playing a trick on me. First she plunges us into darkness and then asks if I've ever thought about Rachel and Quinn's first ever kiss, which, as she just reminded me, also took place in the dark. Also? Take out the also. There'll be no kissing in this particular light-less room.

No. No. It's fine. It must be a ruse to make me feel on edge. Yes, that must be it. Did everyone get together to surprise me early for my birthday? I'm _definitely _good with that. "It hadn't crossed my mind," I say. Okay, I'm placing all my chips on birthday surprise. A month early, but that's reasonable. Yes. Thank you. Can I hear someone moving around? That's got to be it. Yes. Yes. Yes. Come on, Lea. 1, 2, 3... surprise! We can do it together and I promise to look scared. 1, 2...

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she sighs somberly.

Sur... prise. Ah. I imagine I do look scared after all. Why did this game of roulette have to turn Russian? My heart feels like it's been sucked out and is now sitting outside my chest, bobbling around like a chrome_find class="find_in_page"throbbing pendant on a chain. Keep it together. She's just a little lost and doesn't want to return to her empty house. "I understand," I say unhelpfully. More importantly, I don't feel like I can refuse.

Removing all contact, she leans to her left and uses the back of the couch as a pillow. "Ask me, Dianna," she breathes. "Ask me the question you wouldn't earlier."

Not wouldn't: couldn't. It wasn't appropriate then and isn't now. And I still don't understand how saying my full given name is some sort of a term of affection, but I really like it. "I'm here for _you_ tonight; tell me what I can do for _you_," I demand. Thinking about it, Lea could call me any name and I'd like it. Fuck, she really could.

"You can ask me; that's what you can do for me." She makes it sound so easy. "You know you want to. The darkness can make you brave."

I have a feeling the darkness could bring a little too much bravery. The more I try to avoid this, the more suspicious she'll become. But the chase is one I crave. Her interest excites me and it's so damn hard not to bait her. "I _am _brave," I goad. "As are you." Reaching blindly, I decide to tickle her. She laughs mirthlessly, catching my hands and holding them still at her sides.

"Why do you do that, Di?" Somehow she has taken the diminutive and given it dark, chilly undertones. Like I said, everything is different with her.

"Do?" I ask innocently.

"It's hard enough getting a straight answer out of you at the best of times, but now I can't even get a _question_? Come on, give me just a little something to cling to." I feel my arms pushed back towards me, elbows tight to my sides as her hands move to hold me firmly around my upturned wrists; such a physical representation of how shackled to her I am: Lea's ever-willing prisoner.

"Cling to me," I say without forethought, then immediately add: "Sorry, dumb thing to say. Argh. Sorry." I need to stop talking now.

She pauses for a moment then exhales exasperatedly. I expect she's going to tell me off for apologizing so much. "Y'know what? I suck enough tonight. I was a bitch to Theo, and now I'm being an ungrateful bitch to you and you're the last person -"

"No!" Try as I might, no matter how much I try to refocus, I can't see her as well as I would like.

"Oh yes I fucking well have. Christ, I'm awful. I mean look at me." She lets go of me and I can just make out her teeth chewing fiercely on her lower lip. For a second, a bright reflection flashes in her eyes. "I picked the first fault I could find and threw it back in his face. He didn't deserve that. I totally fucking suck. I'm the asshole. He was never the bad part of our relationship." Sniffing, she rubs at her nose and cheeks. I don't like all this self-deprecation. "I wanted to be his friend and I've even fucked that up. I feel completely crappy about why -"

"Lea, Lea, Lea. Stop. Stop. It's okay. You said you weren't happy. And what's done is done. So you have to live by your decision and feel no regret." Why is advice so easy to give, and yet so hard to live by? "Give yourself time to heal."

"I don't want fucking time! I want to feel better now!" She holds her breath suddenly, as if surprised by her own admission. I hear her swallow with difficulty. "I just want to move on and... and feel someone up close, if only for a night."

Oh no. "Oh God, Lea." I feel physically ill at the prospect of a stranger pushing his uneducated fingers over her bare, nervous shoulders. "Don't even think about going out and finding someone random. Just don't." It's an order. I have to save her from herself. "It would be the worst thing you could ever do. Everyone always says that rebound sex never makes you feel like you imagine it would." Just don't. Never. Never. No. The worst.

"Sex? It... it doesn't have to be sex. It could be a kiss. Just a kiss to make the world feel like a brighter place tonight. And it doesn't have to be somebody random." She breathes out shakily and I feel the couch joggle as she shifts a little. "It would make me feel better if it was someone I trust."

My my. There she is, appearing even more the trickster, teaser and tester. Is she saying what I think she's saying? A warm hand lands on my thigh and presses down confidently. I'm guessing that's a yes. I'm in complete shock. My muscles tense with unadulterated anticipation as her fingertips trace a few rumpled creases in my maxi skirt. Left to right. Right to left. Higher. Higher. This is more than just plain affection. Higher. God, all this quicksand... I'm not even submerged and I already feel like I'm dying. She moves in closer and I realize that, finally, I have the answer to the question I couldn't ask. It will haunt me no more.

"Please say something," she begs and causes my pulse to jump. "Or help me out here. Make me feel even the tiniest bit better. Please, Dianna."

I lick my lips. A kiss. So wrong. She might feel different come morning. She might hate me. Worse still, she might not even mention it. Or Theo might find out. Other people might find out. The press might call her a cheater. They might call me a home-wrecker. I don't believe I've ever hurt her. If I do this, I run a _huge _risk of doing just that. It changes everything. Do I take advantage of her offer and chance losing her forever? She can't know how much she means to me, or she'd never ask me to make this decision. What twisting routes and paths have led us to this very point in life? What lies beyond? "I'd do anything to make you feel better, you know I would." I mean it. What Lea wants...

Her left arm slips between me and the couch. She pulls me forward and I think I might die. I'm so overwhelmingly overjoyed. My whole world has, yet again, turned another notch on its axis. The view is pretty from this angle. I'm seeing stars. We draw close and I feel her nose brush my cheek. I tip my head down a little and she kisses the outer edge of my raised eyebrow. My shoulders instantly hunch and I shiver. Lightning strikes again, this time lower down, and angers the dormant dragons therein. The scorching heat feels like it will last a lifetime. Tears start to form in my eyes as she sits back a little and waits. I don't even know if she can see what a mess I've become.

We're both overwrought and she's behaving irrationally, but on some level Lea wants me. Wants _me_. So I sit here in silence, figuratively waving _and_ drowning. I can't stop smiling even despite the tears that keep falling. I've waited so long for a kiss of my _very _own, and now I've been offered one moment of bliss with the woman of my dreams. Do I dare? I half lurch forward. My forehead almost nudges hers, but then I stop. My lips part and I can almost do it. Almost. "Lea," I choke out softly. She blinks rapidly. We're so close. So... almost lovers. Almost. "Just trust me." I pull her into an awkward, almost painful hug and grip her tight. "I never want you to regret anything. Just heal, my beautiful girl, just heal. Take your time."

"Okay," Lea mutters, shuddering against me and causing me to wonder if I've made an even worse decision.

She may hate me tomorrow and I'm prepared for that. One day she'll understand that a single night with her would have destroyed me, and I know for certain that this evening wouldn't have ended with just a kiss; it would have simply started with one. She was so worked up... and even if she does despise me for rejecting her advances, I'll still be smiling inside because tonight she wanted me. Maybe this will all fade away but, for now, that was truly the best kiss I never had.


	24. Happily Never After

Just need to respond to some general comments: -

"This is getting too drawn out" - Please blame me for being slow and not the plot. I wouldn't want to play the story out any other way than what feels natural. Come the end, it'll probably be readable over a single afternoon and will feel quite fast.  
"Who do you prefer to write as?" - No preference, really. I get to be funnier as Lea, but more whimsical as Dianna. However, writing as Lea helped me understand why so many people find Dianna attractive. I had one of those 'I get it now' moments around about the end of 'Don't Do Sadness'.  
"You're going to write another 23 chapters of torture, aren't you?" - Oh my God. No! No! NO! I want every chapter to be the last, but it just hasn't happened yet.  
"Are you trying to kill me?" - Yes, that is absolutely my intention, though I hope the hurt is ultimately a good one.  
"Y u take so long to update? [meme face with graspy hands]" - When I hit the add chapter button, ffnet sends 1300+ people an email. The idea of disappointing even 0.1 percent of those people with a chapter they don't like _really_ fucking scares the words right out of me. The idea of disappointing _all _of you makes me want to live in a cave. Excuse me while I go throw up and cry.

And some specific questions: -

Thewas: HA is a year behind real life, so there'd be another season of Faberry before any cast would be leaving.  
S.E: Let them? When the time comes, I don't think I'd be able to stop them.  
Mark: A boy! Yay. I'm not sure if you're the only one. I remember one other man, but I'm not sure if he's still around. Cooee lads, are you here?  
imaferrari: Well, whomever you choose/have chosen to spend your life with is lucky to have someone with such a great strength of will.  
Bellatrix28: Thank you for pointing out that I'd got the lyric wrong... correcting it now! That'll teach me not to copy lines from the internet. Erk! Also changed to Brandi as I realised the Grey's musical wouldn't have quite aired at this point anyhow.  
fairweatherdays: I heard that in a Dianna/Quinn voice and it gave me feelings. o_O Bet you can't remember what you said now. ;)  
Desertio: I feel like you should win something for that! Have a little text banner. [![![![![!1000th reviewer!]!]!]!]!]!]  
nobogfrog: I'd like to think I could do that. It would make up for all the torture, don't you think?

And finally: -

Sorry for the ridiculous lateness :'( Time passes so quickly. I wish I weren't always so busy and stressed. I really love writing and I appreciate every single comment that is left.

Sorry for all the notes.  
This chapter is for firstpersonsymphony who tried in vain to help me get an account on AO3. I'll get there one day! Thank you again.

* * *

_"Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone." _- Pablo Picasso

It happens.

There are simply times when facts that should have been forever apparent come as a complete surprise. A strange sort of realization is currently developing inside me, bursting into bubbles of bemused wonder. You see, it's just come to my attention how the most intricate and colorful of objects often cast the simplest of shadows. Yes, it's essentially meaningless, but I'm now standing here in frowning awe, speculating on whether we too - in a variety of small ways - are a basic outline or silhouette of our intensely complicated selves. After all, is there any doubt that within each and every soul that floats seamlessly past this point - be their artifice pleased or pained - hides a thousand little-known truths?

Leaning back against the wall, I drag my hands over the concrete surface just to feel the brush of a sharp sensation against my palms. From this considerable distance, I have a clear view of my co-stars; unhindered, I watch as they bathe and play in New York's afternoon sun. One thing I can say for certain: at present I am poised above and a flurry of paddling feet below; treading water while I wait for that reassuring cry of 'land ho', completely unsure as to when that will be.

"You're insane!" Naya coughs through a puff of smoke, flicking a little ash into the cool breeze and scratching at her eyebrow with her thumbnail. "You've gotta put yourself out there and say: 'I deserve this'. Those that don't try, don't get." With her right hand, she taps me on the upper arm and I'm forced to look her way indefinitely. "So will you? There's still time. Nothing to lose."

I go to fix her hair, which has become caught under the collar of her blazer. "I told you already. There are candidates far and away more deserving." As I squeeze her shoulders, I wrinkle my nose. "I'm contented as I am."

"Oh, come on, the lady does protest wuh-hay too much! It's not a bid for presidency. Do it. Do it now!" she berates kindly before poking me repeatedly in the hip and ribs.

I can't help but giggle. "No!"

"Now," Naya instructs with a sly grin, a hot glare and a snap of her slender fingers.

"Fine. Fine," I submit with pretend petulance and an impertinent pout.

"Yes!" She grabs at my waist to swing me around. "Oh, wait, you're my competition now. Get off." She pushes me away and I stumble to a stop, laughing gaily with my hands on my knees. "I'm serious, you," she warns, smirking before taking another deep drag.

I slink over to her side in order to envelop myself in the blossoming haze and engage in a little passive smoking. Well no one said I was perfect, did they? Far from it. Raising my arm, I watch the tendons in the back of my hand change their prominence as I poke random notes along the swirly, stave-like streams of smoke that drift skyward. "I doubt I'll be nominated," I say reflectively.

"Me either, but it won't hurt." Naya shrugs, pulling out her cell phone to give it a fleeting glance before switching to silent mode. "We've gotta be confident in this industry. A little big-headed. And you've had some really amazing scenes. You've got the talent, so, y'know, flaunt it. Believe in yourself as much as everyone else does."

The concept still irks me a fraction. Stating that 'I believe I should win an Emmy, and I here present to you: my finest hour' seems a rather bumptious stance for me to take. I do my best, but I know I'm not _the _best. Naya is right, though: you don't get anywhere by just waiting for life to happen to you. I'm sure I used to be better at that sort of thing. I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't been sure of myself despite numerous knock-backs and disappointments. And the thrill of competition is still there, simmering at the back of my mind.

Seize these days, I tell myself frequently, for if we reach the end of them, we'd surely take the chances of a lifetime. People surpass themselves when time is lacking and therefore precious. Self-belief instantly abounds and bravery surfaces with every disappearing minute. With nothing to lose, there is all to gain. But - and I know I shouldn't be saying this - when the hard ground is visible just out of the corner of your eye, the drop can seem _so _daunting. I've fallen a few too many times to simply jump blindly once again. After all, even 8 out of 10 deep sea turtles will choose the shallower side when placed on a sheet of clear Plexiglas.

"Hey, if you could go anywhere tonight, where would you go?" Naya asks.

Away. Far, far away. Neverland. I (mentally) pick myself up and dust myself off before stepping forward to grab her by the shoulders. We go toe-to-toe for a tête-a-tête. I get a little over-excited and we almost bash foreheads. "Ponti-De Laurentiis studios, Rome, 1954." I bite my lip hard before reconsidering. "Oh, or the Cabaret du Néant, Paris, any time from the mid to late 1800s. _Or _London in the swinging 60s." Overzealous reply? Well, I love playing with visions of the impossible so yah boo to normalcy. "Oh! Oh! I know. Dinosaurs!" I give her a big, funny astonished look.

Naya purses her lips, frowns and nods her head in dubious but happy agreement. "Uh, sure, yeah. I'm good for that, y'know, taking high tea with a triceratops: it's always commendable to be sociable, right?" A snigger slips through. "But -" she flips her wrist and checks her watch "- maybe a little short notice since we'd need to send out formal invitations, so anything a little more local and maybe, uh, current day? We could cruise our way through a few bars? I'm sure I could find one with a, like, prehistoric forest theme for you."

I'm sure she could, would and no doubt will. My answer comes in the form of a delighted laugh. Letting Naya go, I spin back around to the safety of my wall, bend my left knee and raise my foot. The sole of my shoe clonks dully against the masonry as I prop myself up. I'm still a fun girl, you know, and if anything, I unadulteratedly crave the attention and distraction of friends, acquaintances and, yes, admirers (no one is immune to flattery); it all helps ward off long, love-starved musings. All pining must be kept to a strict minimum during waking hours.

Merde. Naya's cigarette is conspicuously absent from her person. Extinguished. When did that happen? I never saw it go. Shame. I'd been enjoying living vicariously. With a sigh, I return my gaze to the scene far beyond. Like a weather vane caught by a gust of wind, my line of sight is immediately - as is so often the case - drawn to Lea. I'm caught off guard because she was already looking this way. My position is clearly not as hidden as I previously thought. No matter. I've no desire to look away and, as evidenced by the fact that she hasn't done so, neither does she.

The screen of fading smoke slowly blends into the air like paint swirling into water; as it dissipates, it takes with it the cloud of denial I've been living in. Everything is far from okay. Lea gives a gentle wave and my heart gives a sharp kick. With eyes wide and smile unfaltering, my hands suddenly slap together in front of my chest as part of an exuberant clap. I'm the human equivalent of a cymbal-banging monkey toy (though I can't perform impressive somersaults). I gesture sillily, as if to say: 'Ignore me. I'm so dorky, I'd get thrown out of clown school for being too ridiculous'.

Lea gives me no such cheerful (or even confused) expression in kind. No, she's still very blank, but it's always nice to be acknowledged. Unless she was waving at Naya. Quite probable. Now I feel even more foolish. After all, Lea's been particularly quiet of late. Pensive. Sedate. Introspective, perhaps. She has interacted with me only when a scene required it, and even that provided me the barest look across a room, dance floor or stage. Group scenes allow that kind of distance, and Rachel and Quinn's romance is not the focus for this finale episode set around Nationals. Our moments together in the spotlight are over. Well, until next season, anyway.

After every yell of 'Cut', Lea always seemed to be drawn away in the name of concentration or distraction. I've frequently spotted her standing with her script clutched to her chest, eyes to the skies and mouthing her many lines. I could have helped her learn her scenes, but what would I have said during the pauses? I've left the break-up comforts to the other girls and boys as I'm clearly not fit for duty in that field. That alone makes me feel neglectful. I should seek her attention, hug her and apologize for being such a miserable excuse for a friend. Somehow, though, I think that's the last thing Lea needs. No, instead, she needs flattery and a good stroking of her ego. Despite being best equipped to do just that, I haven't the words anymore. Damn it. I should have kissed her for her sake alone. I shouldn't have put myself first that night. All she wanted was a little familiarity.

Frustratingly, a crowd of people has gathered and my view of her has been obscured. Déjà vu jolts my senses, and - as ever - I immediately consider the unanswerable question of what might have triggered it. More of life's eternal mysteries to dwell on. Ho hum, hey ho and off we go. Even despite the shade created by this tall building, I feel the need to slip my sunglasses out of my hair and nudge them onto my nose as a small bout of that non-permitted pining takes me over and I allow a few memories to tie me up in deliciously tight, twisting knots.

Absentmindedly, I nudge the toe of my shoe at a stubbed out cigarette that's been marked with a neon shade of pink lipstick, the owner long gone. Watching the butt roll back and forth amongst the grit and grime, I find myself rubbing my right wrist with my left hand. Limbo. Mm, that's a fair description of my situation. I haven't smoked once since Lea advised me not to. Not once. Well, maybe half a once. Okay, hands up, two halves and a fifth. Whenever I'm tempted, I can't help but visualize her stern, disapproving expression. Day on day. Month on month. The image is so clear that, for all intents and purposes, her grumpy face might as well be printed on the reverse of cigarette packs. Someone should put forward that supposition to Regina Benjamin; the CDC might see a considerable upturn in smoking cessation. Or downturn. Hm.

Truth be told, my romantic life - almost in its entirety - has been on hold in that same fashion. Silent mode and set to vibrate when Lea calls (no comment on the innuendo). At times I've thought: 'Go grab someone interesting, have a night of lust and pretend it's the apocalypse!' But it's never that simple. I tried. I tried to date. Tried to fall in love. Attempted not to care for Lea quite so deeply in order to avoid becoming an asexual spinster with designs on an unobtainable girl. If only it were as simple as rewriting your desires and rewiring your heart.

The crux of the problem is that I've been in a serious relationship with Lea for such an inordinately long time, and she just isn't aware of it. My commitment in this marriage to a mirage wavers frequently because there is no actual other half, let alone better half. And, whenever I've allowed myself to be chased and propositioned by others, it served only to further load my shoulders with self-imposed guilt. Sure, I could blame Lea a little, say she kept me too close, accuse her of making me love her more every day with just a look, but she's the unwitting party in all this. I can't.

Even talking to her about people I date feels taboo; like boasting of an affair I've had behind her back. An adulteress is not something I ever wanted to be, but it's exactly how I've felt. 'No regrets,' I had proclaimed to Lea one night, offering her the opportunity to release me from my self-created trap. 'Embracing freedom,' I had added, expecting her boundless and bouncing enthusiasm for my new lifestyle maxims. But joining her wide smile had been an all too clear display of dismay and sadness.

I don't like feeling like a cheater. I needed some sort of 'out' clause, but she never came through for me. So, even on that score, Lea somehow prevents me from burning away the fever that she alone causes. It doesn't matter anyhow; I'm not a girl who can freely give her body to the night. Sex without love is just bodies in motion, and it neither interests nor fulfills me; I never was all that brilliant at biology. These days I can't even smoke away my troubles, so creative diversions are my focus now. I use up the energies caused by untapped desires on exploits for the greater good. But no matter how full my life is with rose petals, good deeds and all things magical, I still feel like half a woman, half a person, and half a soul with everyone but Lea.

And then... I don't know. What _was _that moment? The one I keep trying to avoid thinking about. The moment she, in not so many words, asked me to ease her pain with a not-so-simple comfort kiss and made overt displays of affection towards me? Which of us feels more regret now, I wonder? Would she take back that action if she could? I'm struck suddenly by a churning, hollow sickness, as if my body is trying to process an indigestible emotion. It drives me to wonder why so many of our base reactions occur in the stomach. Why don't feelings of regret arise first and foremost in, say, the hands? Why shouldn't fear sting the eyes and remorse burn the lips? What if wrists could be said to 'feel uneasy'?

Maybe such things do manifest themselves in this way, but we haven't learned that particular corporeal code yet. Still and contemplative, my attention is drawn to a strange tingle high in my left thigh. My foot drops back to the floor and the numbing tickle disappears almost immediately. What was that? Just a tired muscle, or my body telling me to stand straight and get on with my life?

"Sure you don't need one?" asks Naya, having presumably seen me kick at the spent cigarette. She proffers an as yet unopened pack. The clear plastic film crackles under her fingertips.

I find myself lazily chewing at my knuckle, letting my teeth pinch the skin. "I'm good, thanks." Deceiver, dissembler, your trousers are alight. From what pole or gallows shall they dangle in the night?

"I wouldn't have given you one anyway; I don't wanna be the one that breaks your good record," she responds, sidling up beside me and slipping her arm around my waist reassuringly. "I know I keep asking, but are you sure you're okay?" I give her a thumbs-sideways gesture. "Thought so. As Ms Lopez would say: hormonal or homonormal?" Forget awkward allusions to sexuality; isn't the latter a genetics term?

Semantic analysis aside. "Ha," I say with a note of forced amusement in much the same way as I had Quinn respond in the episode to which Naya is referring. "I..." My vocal cords fail me. A semi-snuggle allows me to relax and I open up a little. "Every time I see Lea, I... I just keep wondering if I've, to put it bluntly, completely fucked up my only chance at real intimacy with her," I say rhetorically, my throat tightening around the words like a tourniquet. Together, Naya and I look out on this beautiful day. It's a lovely aspect. Lea reappears between the parting masses but doesn't make eye contact with either one of us. We watch her weave between people. On a mission, I think. "Worse, I think she resents me."

"Resent? No!" Naya replies adamantly, her hair swishing against my own as she shakes her head. "She described it as embarrassment." I narrow my eyes at her with confusion. Pressing her lips together, she raises her eyebrows. "Well you know how much she talks during spin class."

No, but I do now. Unable to focus my thoughts, my eyes dart furtively. First to the rotating door of a sky rise building. Then a small bird, correction, a clump of leaves that just so happens to look like a small bird. A discarded paper bag. A flag flapping in the breeze. Lea being hugged from behind by Kevin. "Did she... I mean, has she -"

"Nah. She was just jibber-jabbering about how dumb she felt. She didn't elaborate on what happened. Those cards are _firmly_ held to her chest. And she wasn't to know that you'd already told me everything." Naya squeezes me close and rubs vigorously at my upper arm. "What I got was that she thinks she over-stepped the mark and made you uncomfortable. I just kept on pedaling and didn't agree or disagree. Just told her she was being paranoid. I _wanted _to say that if she'd taken the bull by the horns and just laid one on that pretty mouth of yours," she adds hastily, her eyelashes fluttering suggestively, "you'd have been crazy ecstatic."

Slightly panicked and taken aback by the mental image of a kiss, I inhale sharply. "Naya, you -"

"_No_. No, I didn't," she replies softly and sweetly. "Relax, 'kay?"

I swallow restlessly. Blush rises in my cheeks and anxiety floods my body. "I'm not sure I'd have been ecstatic. Or maybe I would have. Would I?" I question.

"Only you know that, Di," she says, looking at me despairingly and poking me in the side once again.

For the umpteen-thousandth time, I brace myself and run through all the possible outcomes for that dark night. There's the one where I envisage kissing Lea, after which she proclaims: 'Oh! I've literally just, like, fallen in love with you!' Then, just as my spirit rises, she laughs mockingly and I'm crushed. That or we're immediately interrupted by an outraged Theo bounding into my house having flown across America to sweep Lea off her feet, after barking: 'Get off her, you bitch'. I have various endings for this. None good.

There's another where I refuse, but she pins me down. Her kisses are rough, teeth grazing my lips and neck. Our breathing becomes strained and erratic as we tear the clothes from each other's bodies. Passion takes over and leaves all sense behind. A lamp gets broken. Candle wax burns my hand. I wake the next morning, naked, scarred and marked, tangled in sheets and alone with a hastily scratched-out note written in eye-liner crushed beneath my cheek that states: 'I'm sorry; we shouldn't have', and I couldn't possibly feel more wretched.

Of course, the one that most often springs to mind begins with Lea saying: 'I need and want you, and it wouldn't be just for one night'. We both lean in for a mutual embrace before she leads me to my own bed and is still there come sunrise, stroking my hair and blessing my skin with lingering kisses. Ironic that the most pleasant scenario should also cause me the most pain. Each time I envisage her lips tenderly touching mine, my abdominal muscles clench harshly. Again. Again. Again. A cycle of blissful torture. Again.

I must remember: I was a body to her; I could have been anyone and no good would have come of it. All in all: "I think the most likely outcome would have been me sobbing into a cushion," I say with little doubt. It seems to cover most bases, most especially first, second, third and fourth base.

Grabbing my chin with her free hand, Naya gives me a sympathetic look. "Then you definitely made the right decision, princess. Absolutely. I mean, I haven't had someone cry after I kissed them since I was, like, nine, but I remember that it very much sucked. So at least you saved Lea from that, okay?" I look at her, expecting more from the story. She snorts slightly and looks guilty. "Oh, that, uh. He had a busted lip and I'd just had this really sharp, like, lemon slush cup thing. Poor little guy." Wide-eyed, she grins crookedly.

We huddle for a little longer, my forehead pressing at her cheek. "Thank you." Sighing, I smile toothily.

"Eleven o'clock," Naya suddenly mutters under her breath.

Huh? "You wanna go out -"

Grabbing my waist, she pushes us apart and turns me on my heel. "Di, promise me you'll never join the army. You'd constantly be wandering into enemy territory," she whispers, indicating our soon-to-be guest by angling her head.

Lea approaches steadily. Closer. Closer. Step. Trot. Run. A crescendo of footsteps. I'm surprised I haven't any significant bruising from the painful internal knocks that she evokes. Even closer now. And... stop. She completes a circuit in my mind: a clacking whir begins, something Röyksopp would find familiar plays in my mind, lights flash in my eyes and my pathetic, clockwork heart springs out of a trapdoor in my chest like a cuckoo from a clock. I should prepare myself for some sort of Acme Incorporated anvil to drop from the sky and squash me into something resembling an accordion.

"Sorry to interrupt your girly lovefest," Lea announces flatly. Do I detect disapproval? If so... ouch. "I wanted to ask if either of you could do me a favor tonight?" She gently bites down on her bottom lip and - all consequences and cushion crying aside - I can't help but utterly despise myself for not taking up the chance to do just that to her. I'd be ever so gentle. Or not. "Not that, uh, y'know," she continues, "not that I'm expecting you to be available; you'll obviously be busy or whatever, but if you have, like, even an hour to spare, I'd appreciate it and be super, super grateful." Rubbing the Q of her gold pendant necklace between her fingertips, she looks at the ground. "Theo's coming over to my apartment here -" They're back together, I knew it! And what do you know: my wrists _do _feel uneasy "- and I was wondering if, uh, one of you could, like, be there or something? I trust him; it's not that. I... I don't think he'll take anything he shouldn't, and frankly I don't give a fuck if he does, but I don't wanna be there, y'know?"

Can it be? Wow. It's really over? It's... wow. I honestly thought they'd reconcile. Kind of. No. Yes. Did I? Yes, I think I truly did, but hoped they wouldn't. Swiftly, Naya moves in, they talk, but I can't hear their hushed words: presumably Naya is offering for us both to be there when Theo picks up his shirts and records. I won't exactly look forward to it, but it's a duty. Reduce my neglect. Before I have the chance to determine exactly what to say, we're being called over to complete more city montage and song work. These are my last hours of filming season two, and thanks to a longer than expected break before tour rehearsals, Naya and I will soon escape for a much-needed retreat. Hopefully there are no falling anvils in Cannes. I need a little time to think.

Naya links her arm with mine and leans in. "Okay. Done."

"What's the plan?" I ask, suddenly remembering the favor.

"I'm gonna get her keys and go babysit the ex. _You're _taking her out for cocktails." She bumps her hip against mine playfully.

_What the hell? _"What?" comes my strained reply.

"And if you, missy, haven't told her how you feel by the time this day ends, then you'll have me to answer to. Okay? So please stop putting on the sex eyes for everyone but her, and let her know that she's killing you just by existing."

"I tried that before, Nay," I grumble under my breath obstructively.

"Try harder," she says, flexing her arm muscles and squeezing my elbow tight against her side. "All your other friends may say: 'Take your time, it's fine, baby-D-girl', but from me you'll get a little honesty. This has gone on too long. You need to give yourself a break and give her the chance to get used to it. I mean she's, like, the most unshockable girl in the world. It won't be nearly as scary as you think it will. And, I mean, can you imagine what it would feel like to spend the _whole _fucking tour mooning over her?"

"It wouldn't be so bad," I shrug nonchalantly. "I coped last year."

At first Naya laughs, then sees my expression of consternation. "You've got to be kidding me, right? Last _year_! Oh my God, what are you? A goddamned saint or a freaking masochist?"

Well, sometimes I do wonder exactly that.

* * *

_"She got the power in her hand to shock you like you won't believe. Saw her in the Amazon with the voltage running through her skin. Standing there with nothing on. She gonna teach me how to swim." _- MGMT - Electric Feel

"In my head I was all, like, fuck you, but I just fucking stood there like an asshole and watched her walk away with my mouth, like, gaping open. I've totally lost my New York swagger. It's crazy," Lea says loudly over the booming music and chatter of other patrons. Zipping shut her purse she wedges the arch of her shoe on the polished copper foot rail, jumps up and practically slaps her Platinum Card into the no-longer distracted bartender's hand. Supporting her weight on the edge of the bar, she leans in to scan the variegated line of bottles and scour the cocktails board. There's little I can do but stand awkwardly, take in the sight of her callipygian figure and suffer the warmth prickling at the nape of my neck. "We need a quiet table," she instructs. "A skinny mojito pitcher with strawberries; not _in _the pitcher, just on the side. Crushed ice. Not too much." Y'know, her swagger seems fully intact to me; it's as innate as her musical talents. This is, after all, the girl who made sure to have her Emmy entry submitted on day one. "Are you hungry? Did you eat already?" I didn't even realize she was looking my way. A smirk passes across her lips. "Are you still strict at home and easy on the street?" Oh Lea. She's so bad. So funny. She doesn't even want a real answer; she just wanted to see me purse my lips and look at her with faux contempt. "Just get us some, like, plain crostini with sea salt and extra virgin olive oil and, uh, a bunch of olives. Chips and stuff. No meat. I could eat a horse." The oxymoronic statement makes me smirk. I try to offer payment, but it's no good: she alone will be picking up the tab. "Jill!" she suddenly yelps, looking right past me and waving frantically.

Wait. What? "Who?" I murmur. A mop of mousey-brown hair in a plaid dress and torn leggings bounces past me and up to Lea as she jumps down. I try to see Jill's face. Hm. I don't think she's anyone I know, although... yeah, I recognize her from Lea's large collection of photographs of backstage theater crew. Patiently, I wait as they talk a little about news and old times. Lea manages to completely side-step a question about Theo; perhaps the wound is too fresh.

"Totally!" she says in reply to a suggestion for a reunion.

I hadn't planned for people. Should I be picking up a champagne flute and spindly fork so that I might tap at the tinkling glass before I make my declaration? I'm no good at this. Why did I let Naya convince me? I sense my presence might be unnecessary and try to step away. "Lea," I whisper, "if you two want time, I..."

She simply mouths 'no' at me as she goes to hug Jill to hurry their goodbye. Looking over the girl's shoulder, she extends her arm towards me, fingers waggling. Reaching out, I take Lea by the hand and move forward rigidly. "Soon. Definitely. But tonight -" she says into her friend's ear "- I need to spend some time alone with my lady here." Lea's thumb sweeps softly but firmly over my knuckles. I examine her expression and frown. Her only response is to stare directly into my eyes, lower those beautiful, thick fluttering eyelashes slowly and purposefully, then look back up at me. Open. Confident. Lustful.

Crunch. I've come to a jarring halt upon the jagged rocks of a completely new shoreline. The grinding of cogs, gears and breaking wood is almost deafening in my mind. Torn, shaken and bleary-eyed, I watch as Jill leaves. "Bye," I manage to mutter, thinking about Lea's seductive blink and determining how to walk on legs that no longer seem suitable for the mobilization of a human being. This is undiscovered territory. From here, the sun-warmed waters of my ocean suddenly look safe and inviting. I shouldn't want to go back. No one in their right mind would rather be lost than found.

Can it really be that this gorgeous, amazing and now most definitely newly-single woman with whom I am infatuated just _flirted _with me? Well, did she? I think she did. Yes, she did and I'm sad to say I'm petrified. Calcified Dianna in purest form. Lea's unadulterated come hither glance was not in the name of acting or even comfort; it was just a look. A look that said: 'I'm here if you want me, and you had better want me'. What kind of person does it make me if I look back with hungry eyes, not at Lea, but at a life spent in martyrdom? Why would I hope that it's all rebound and no bound?

We follow a young man who guides us towards a half-circle booth. Lea's hand, which is still gripping mine, feels extraordinarily nice to hold. Soft. Safe. I need this physical support as I'm still feeling damaged from metaphorically running aground. I clench tighter, as if protecting secrets stored upon her palm. I don't want to let them out. I don't want to hear them. Why am I distressed over something good and great? Will I always seek out the pitfalls and try and thrown myself directly into them? Why would I not want her to be attracted to me?

* * *

_"A woman happily in love, she burns the soufflé. A woman unhappily in love, she forgets to turn on the oven." _- Baron St. Fontanel - 'Sabrina'

"Someone decided that it would be a great idea if I didn't let loose about me and Theo in case people think I'm gonna be crying my way through the tour or some shit. I'm not allowed to mention it in interviews or anything, but fuck it, y'know, yadda yadda, if anyone gets hold of it, who cares, right?" Lea self-consciously tucks her lustrous, super straight hair behind her ear, causing her diamond earring to twinkle. Feeling intensely shy, I nod, scooping a few crumbs onto a napkin so that I don't wind up accidentally sweeping them up later with an elbow. "Mom emailed," Lea says, cutting the silence at the same time as dropping half a strawberry into her cocktail glass. We both watch intently as it envelops itself in a mint leaf and bobs back to the surface, now looking like it's wearing a small coat. "She said you swung by." Frowning, she shakes her head. "Did you not feel able to go with me? I would have driven you."

"You were very busy at the time." Busy enough. "Your mom is wonderful. Your dad too. I love them." I smile because it's true.

"They love you." Carefully, she slides her fingertip up and down the stem of her glass. Unable to look away, I watch this precise movement, and feel the urge to lick my lips which have been cooled by ice and sweetened with fruit. "So much," she adds after an extended pause.

Blinking rapidly, I realize I should explain myself further. "They have a beautiful relationship. So close. Even after all these years. I wish..." I trail off, thinking about my own parents. So many factors can screw up even the best of marriages. I try not to let my expression turn sour. "Just so lucky."

"Yeah, totally," she enthuses, buoyed by my sentimental statement. "God, I wish I'd met the love of my life in school." Suddenly uncertain, she runs her fingers through her bangs, sweeping them to one side as she pretends to examine the decor and poorly-lit wall art.

Earlier she stunned me with one sultry gaze; now she's barely able to look me in the eye. I find myself disconcertingly reassured by this. "Are you worried about Theo?" I ask. She looks nervous and fidgety.

"Hell no. Well..." Her brow crinkles again as she drags her fingertip through a watery pool on the table that was caused during an earlier mis-pouring. "I kinda treated him like shit at the end, so for that I feel bad, but he'll be fine." She pouts her glossed lips and a faint, central groove in the lower deepens slightly. "Di, I've gotta ask you something."

Still Di instead of Dianna? From her, I now consider that to be tantamount to locking me in the dog house and throwing away the bone-shaped key (or key-shaped bone). "Okay," I say slowly, reminding myself that the truth trapped does nothing but transform into regret, and I won't be free until I let it out. Well, let it out _again_. I'm ready. I'm prepared to almost cue card level. She can ask me why I denied her a kiss. She can ask me about my feelings for her. Naya was right about so many things; most importantly that it's not about winning or being the best; it's about standing up and being counted. "Hit me."

Lea clears her throat and I brace myself. Her mild cough turns to a half-hearted, pissed off snicker, which she inhibits by biting the inside of her cheek. "Uhm." She inhales deeply through her nose. "What... y'know, what the fuck is all this stuff about you offering to take on Claude?"

When I had this conversation with my mirror earlier this evening, it never asked me _that _question. She looks at me with one eyebrow raised, her posture utterly dejected. Holding my hand to my chest, I lean in. "Not permanently. I just want to help when I can. I offered to look after him when your mom is on vacation. I can learn how to give his medication."

"Yeah, I appreciate that. But, hello, you're _supposed _to be, like, highly allergic," she says curtly with a wave of her hand. "I was determined that I wouldn't let it bother me, but I have to know."

White lies are never, ever worth telling. "Lea -"

"I mean a year and a half ago, you told everyone and their friend that our pets were the reason you moved out of our apartment." Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking of. "You let me believe it all this time, Di. And what I don't get is... you must be. I mean... you are allergic, you are! The puffy, red eyes in the morning. Tell me I'm not wrong," she begs, hands now flat on the table.

"Yes, I am." I really am. "Not as much as I might have implied, but I am. You know I wouldn't lie to you about that." When I lived with Lea I could have limited my contact with those kitties, but when you're slowly falling in love with someone over breakfast, you don't want the audio memory of their bedroom antics crossing your mind. Those precious cats were my only comfort at night when Lea's then on-and-off boyfriend visited. I practically wore them like ear muffs. Ear plugs aren't as efficient, or cuddly. Lea looks at me somewhat relieved. "But they're not why I moved out of our apartment," I admit. Start small. Build big. My pulse starts jumping. I watch her crumple.

"Am I _that _awful to live with?" She winces.

Towards the end of our co-habitation, it wasn't always our cats that caused me to appear first thing with reddened, sore eyes. It was the sleepless nights; the tossing and turning. "I _adored _living with you." I want to take her by the hands, but I won't let myself. Instead I keep my fists tightly balled on my lap. My eyes mist over and I bite at the side of my bottom lip. "It was one of the best times of my life." That sweet, innocent existence long before all the staged kisses and excessive yearning. I hadn't understood much about what I felt for Lea back then, only that I wanted her so close that I had to let go for her own good. Like a favourite bear, so worn at the seams that the stuffing falls out. "You were talking about getting a new place and -"

"A new home with you," she interrupts, and I feel another phantom bruise spring up just below my diaphragm. Tilting her head, she looks at me like she loves me. Ouch. My eyelashes bat furiously. "Sorry," she breathes, as if apologizing for the pangs she just caused.

My mouth is dry, presumably still adjusting to this new arid mental landscape. "Don't be sorry," I say. For now, I still have one foot on land and the other in calming waters, and while Lea is abstaining from being highly flirtatious, I feel quite safe. Quite. Inhale. Exhale. Be brave. This is going to happen. It's going to be fine. I'm going to tell her. For the sake of my sanity - and in expectation of a telling off from Naya - I have to do this now. I let myself take a long swig of my drink and set the glass down gently.

"No, I r-really am sorry," she stumbles. "I know we always say to each other that we shouldn't feel the need to apologize, but I should've known you wouldn't have lied to me. Plain and simple." Smiling, but also on the verge of tears, she thrusts out her hand and grabs mine. My breath catches. "This hasn't gone the way I thought it would."

She rehearsed too? That's very cute. Like preparing for a debate team meet. Who is for and who is against? "There's no right way to do anything. Sometimes you just have to feel your way in the dark."

"Tried that," she says almost inaudibly. Her fingertips start drawing patterns on the back of my hand and I find my eyes closing. "Duck!" she announces. Flinching, I hunch down. I feel silly, but maybe there are paparazzi on patrol. She pulls on my arm and we slide towards each other and dip our heads. I ruffle my hair, pushing it forward to conceal my face.

We're very close. Hip bumping hip. I laugh to cover a shudder of fear in my abdomen. "We should have done that old movie thing where people kiss to hide from -" I stop. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. "Oh God. Just slap me." Did I say that out loud? Maybe this is where I grow a pair. She looks thoughtful again. Sad. "I should have kissed you when you asked, Lea..."

A few second pass. It feels like a lifetime. "No." Solemnly, she shakes her head. "I shouldn't have put you in that situation. It was dumb and childish." Her teeth tear at her mouth, tears shining in her eyes. Shifting on the spot, she absently pulls at a snag in the upholstery behind us. "Jesus," she hisses at herself. "I thought this would be easier. Where's a script writer when you need one?" She chuckles, but I know it's just a defense mechanism.

My heart is pounding. There's an odd edge - a sharpness or ringing - to every noise I hear. Every noise save for those that come from Lea's mouth, that is. I concentrate on those. Except now she's silent again. Have I offended her so much that she can barely speak? What secrets are hidden beneath the layers of self-protection she puts on? Time is running out. I need to rush in and proclaim myself. "Please don't be embarrassed. Let's talk about this. I want to." I don't feel like I've the choice anymore. I'm a defendant standing ready to be cross-examined. Pleading the fifth is no longer an option.

"You're so sweet to me. The best," she admits. "I'm gonna try to make this as non-scary for you as possible."

"Thank you." I'm being given an opportunity to talk without fear. She's basically saying that she's nervous but ready. I should say it now. Quick. Just say that I'm in love with her and that it's not a problem, and she need not feel any different about me. I just want the best for her. Oh gosh. The glowing amber light makes Lea's hair shine. She is bewitching.

"I want you to know that you don't need to worry," she says formally, teardrops catching at her eyelashes. "I'll talk to Ryan about next season, 'cause it's not healthy living your life through a character, and I _promise _I won't make you feel uncomfortable on tour." She already knows, doesn't she? I feel nauseated. There's nothing to tell. Perhaps asking me to kiss her was a test after all. Anyone else would have just lunged for her and done it. "And I just want you to be flattered, y'know. Oh, and afterwards we should just go run around the city, get some new inks and laugh about this when we're old, right?"

"Right." No. "Right?" I don't understand.

"You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" she asks, slightly panic-stricken. "You're so mean for making me say it again!"

"Again?" Cockatiels converse more efficiently than I do. What is going on? I feel lost. There's not even a sliver of light to guide my way out of this maze.

She touches my cheek briefly, then removes all contact. "You're so naïve sometimes. It's adorable. I don't wanna force you to face something you've managed to not guess - even though I thought I was leaving enough signs - but I can't go around like everything is normal. That's not who I am. I don't like hiding things. So I'm just gonna say it and then I'm gonna be a little freer and we're both gonna be good."

My head is nodding and my mouth is saying: "Okay." But my nails are making crescent marks on my palms and my teeth are nipping hard at my lips. Again? What did she mean by again? What has she said before? What have I already heard? My sinuses are burning with a strange sort of heat and yet I'm almost shivering with this fever of expectation.

"Right." She takes a deep breath and exhales raggedly. Wait. No. I want to slap my hand over her mouth. Stop the words she's finding so hard to say from falling out. I want to stay as we are. Keep the peace.

"You don't have to," I urge.

"I do, Dianna." With one utterance of my name, I am released from incarceration, and now I want to seal myself back up again. "Or it'll just sit on my chest and keep on begging for me to tell you. These are the last few precious hours I get with you before you go away to France; it has to be now."

Precious. Yes. I need to remember that. "Take your time." Take a lifetime.

She lifts her head a fraction. "Okay. Look at me. No laughing." It's a laughable matter? "It's no laughing matter." No, then. She puts one hand back on the table to steady herself. She's shaking more than I am. I'm supposed to be the nervous one. I should speak first. It might help her to not have to be concerned about what she has to say. I need to pluck up the courage and - "I'm in love with you, Dianna." The words roll off her tongue as easily as if she'd said them one thousand times. Suddenly I can't see her as well as I could because there are tears stinging my eyes. The sweet blurry outline before me smiles faintly and grabs for a napkin to dab at her cheeks.

Dumbfounded, I sit frozen, staring at this beautiful bird and feeling like a clump of leaves. Lea. _Loves_. Me. Not attraction but love. Or attraction _and _love? Shock doesn't cover it. Happiness and joy smash together inside me and shatter into splinter-like pieces. I should have known all along what her feelings were. The looks. Her hope for a kiss. And I understand now. The proclamation at the fairground. The mistake that wasn't a mistake after all. It was Lea not Rachel. God. Lea not Rachel. How do I respond? I do the worst thing and say: "I know." I should have known. I must have noticed. I must. Maybe I just didn't want it to be true.

"Thank you for not freaking out." She sighs with relief. "And, honestly, nothing has to change. I just wanted to tell you so that we could be grown-ups about it." Smiling, she rubs my thigh in thanks. It tingles once again, aching for me to tell her my feelings. "Fuck, I can't even tell you how much better I feel for getting that out."

I should be shouting my reciprocation from the rooftops, but once again it's me alone who tears us asunder. Lea's never put on a mask, or wallowed in sweet torment like I have. Like I continue to do. She's pure and honest. I'm the one veiled and concealed, hiding behind self-effacing humility and constantly running away from happiness as if I were expecting that Cupid's arrow to splice me in two. "I love you," I say. The best I can do. "You're so incredibly brave -" whereas I'm full to the brim with cowardice "- and I appreciate you telling me." In one fell swoop she has proven that she's too good for me, and I am too much of a failure for her. She deserves better. She deserves someone who doesn't deny her the opportunity of knowing that someone loves them.

"Sorry for getting a little creepy, y'know, that night. The lines got fuzzy and I was super emotional and stuff, but you don't have to worry. I was just being a self-indulgent jerk and, like, praying for a stupid miracle. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I really need you as a friend." I want her as a lover _and _a friend; it's all I ever wanted, but I don't know how to make it happen. I'm so frightened. It feels like a dream. She grabs my hand excitedly, but I can still see the dejection in her expression. "C'mon, let's go get those tattoos. Please?"

"Yeah. Yes. Definitely. Let's," I seem to say, because if I can't make her happy by telling her my feelings, I can at least go along with any or all of her wishes. And a tattoo, well, it seems an apt activity to become scarred prettily upon this momentous occasion. I need a hard, palpable memory; something everyone can see. I'm all too accustomed to the self-inflicted injections of pain I've driven into the surface of my heart spelling out her name over and over. It's just a black, blobby stain visible only to myself now. Addiction is a horrible thing.

"We should get the same. What do you think?" she asks sweetly, probably trying to distract herself with decisions on whereabouts on her sublime body to place it.

I'm finding it hard to think about anything but how to leave this place; this Neverland where I forever seek these never-hads, these never-kisses and never-happily-afters, where I can be the one who loved another but never truly had anything to lose. Do I risk everything and allow myself to grow up? I don't think I can. I don't know how. "I think you should get another bird; they suit your nature. Me? I... I'm not quite sure. Something else." Something less free. "You choose."

Her arm sneaks around my back. I shiver with self-hate for what I'm doing to her. We gently move in close and as we hug, she kisses my cheek and rests her chin on my shoulder. Molding herself firmly against me, I feel her hands grab desperately at my waist as she fails to cope with my apparent rejection. I feel her break a little. A 'thank you' ebbs from her throat in a heavy-hearted sigh.

Letting love in is so much harder than I had once thought. I never anticipated this. I should have known. People fall in love.

It happens.


	25. Faute de Mieux

A massive woo-yay for Chazykyu who created this playlist for HA: Visit sharemyplaylists dot com slash happy-agony  
Please please please go listen and give her the credit which she is due! Amazing and extraordinary.

Many thanks to parisoriginal having a spare invite (go read all her fic now!) I now have an AO3 account - I'll get everything put on there as a backup in case FFnet removes my work.

Readers, I promise that I'm not writing this to purposefully piss you off. I'm on your side. I want this too. More than anything. I will find the time to finish this story if it kills me. The messages from those of you who relate to this story and have found that it touched them mean the world to me. Thank you for reading.

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_"Why do they always teach us that it's easy and evil to do what we want and that we need discipline to restrain ourselves? It's the hardest thing in the world - to do what we want. And it takes the greatest kind of courage. I mean, what we really want." _- Ayn Rand

My Peter Pan complex and I are currently having a drawn-out snivelling cry at 30,000 feet. I _was_ fine. I was _absolutely_ fine. Eating. Sleeping. Soaking up the sunshine. Lounging beneath the stars. Embracing the earth in all its glory. Needing time alone, I had encouraged Meg to accompany Naya abroad in my place. My French adventure would wait. Instead, Arthur and I sojourned to a house in the mountains. We played. We chased birds, investigated caves and barked at snakes. We talked extensively about my situation. He agreed that we're okay on our own, that I shouldn't upset the status quo. The apple cart could, would and should remain standing. It was so quiet and peaceful up there in the clouds. No contact with home. Not a soul. Nor any television to taunt me. It was lovely. I was _fine_.

Then, when work came a callin', I returned with vigor much renewed to find myself conveyor-belted through stage direction, outfit changes and re-vamped dance routines. All good. Just fine and dandy. Utterly diverted, I learned my steps and did my job as best I could. Born to be busy, I was focus itself. The perfect automaton. Agronobot was happy and excited about the future. Agronobot lived to dance. Agronobot _loved _going on tour. When that time came, I became a hot air balloon: buoyed and inflated by the simple, pure and genuine warmth generated by delighted audiences of many thousands. Flames fueled by cheers and screams, I floated above the world. Bass beat running in my veins, I absorbed every little bit of enthusiasm awarded to us and found myself cutting free the sandbags one by one - performance by performance - climbing higher and higher. Unrestrained. A speck in the sky. Untouchable.

The first show flashed by, as did the second. In fact they have all whooshed by with my friends (old and new) and me being whirligigged from city to city. A blur. I couldn't even say how many performances there have been. But the buzz! Amazing! Supreme! Intoxicating! Entrancing! The love brought and bestowed upon us all pounds though our bodies like some sort of invigorating, healing alternative medicine. Boost on boost we found the strength to overcome our tiredness and the drive to find new and exciting experiences in every day that passed. So much to explore. People. Sounds. Sights. A veritable banquet of visual, tactile and aural information, which I crammed into my mind until I could see, feel, hear and dream of nothing but the roar of the ever-changing and ever-adoring crowd. My world was not merely rose-tinted, but stuffed full to brimming with glitter and ticker-tape, a thousand multi-color lights to guide my way.

So here I am. Here we all are. Another great journey across the world. Flying this time. Hence the altitude. And in an airplane, I might add, in case that was unclear (I can only fly without wings in my dreams). Thirty seconds. Maybe less. That's all it took for that joyful, beguiling commotion to be stripped away, leaving my consciousness like a dimly-lit, cavernous room where words echo and thoughts move sluggishly. I thought I'd protected myself so well: grown a thick skin; padded out the walls; spread gum paste across my insecurities and heavily découpaged the flimsy surfaces of my fragile mind. But Lea so easily flung wide the crack in my chest and revealed the mess of wires therein. A sham; that's what I am. A replica of myself. Russian dolls: one inside another, each hiding a more delicately-shelled and vulnerable me. I'm a one man party trick, and not even a good one at that. Of course it wasn't her fault that she carelessly ripped open that large bag of chips. Or that they'd flown everywhere like feathers spilling forth from a burst pillow. Without thinking, I'd instinctively slung my brightly-colored headphones around my neck and dropped heavily to my knees in the aisle to help her.

"When the chips are down, huh?" she had uttered at first with a frown and then a cheeky chuckle.

Confused, I'd sought answers in her eyes. "Oh," I finally exclaimed, then again more quietly so as not to wake our napping friends. "Chips! Yeah!" There was probably some subconscious allusion to the fact that I'd only come to her side when she needed aid, but I didn't think about that at the time. We amused ourselves with whispered observations and reminiscences of joint clumsiness and I was fine. Fine. Honestly. But the mess across the coarsely-textured, patterned carpet... it became familiar. Or rather: the situation itself and our mirrored kneeling positions. So long ago. Sheet music. That's what it reminded me of. All I could think of was a scattering of sheet music across a polished stage and the memory of her mouth tempting me for a kiss. How desperate I was to break away from the script and touch her that day. How desperate I always am. Of _course _I still am. How could I not be? Ever taunted by her kissable cheeks. Shoulders. Hair. Neck. Stomach. Knees. Thighs.

As if re-enacting that old auditorium scene, I had leaned forward with every intention of saying something enlightening and meaningful, but in a quiet, ear-tingling whisper, she had told me that she missed laughing with me. I felt wicked, once again guilty of depriving her of my time and affection, and of living my life like a screenplay in which the star-crossed lovers are inevitably separated by some cruel fate. Except I'm the only one to blame here. It's all my fault. _I _am that cruel fate. For the longest time, I relished being in love with someone I couldn't have. It fed some strange poetic desire to feel karmically balanced. After all, a love this strong could not be reciprocated by her without some kind of weight setting the balance to the bad. Could it? You can't eat your cake and have it too, as they say.

To kiss her, I thought, would surely bring the world crashing about my ears. It could all go hideously wrong. 'Could' being the operative and most pertinent word; the one that made a decision seem unreachable at that juncture. After all, I've seen even the sweetest and greatest of loves turn sour. I've felt the pain of a family torn apart, and that memory alone will forever affect my inhibitions. I've never had any problem with the être; it's always been the avoir that troubled me. In its unborn, untainted state this love I have for Lea is innocent and sweet. Is it ungrateful to deny myself something more rounded and fulfilling because of a fear of history repeating? Everything I ever wanted is knocking loudly at my door, but I've spent so many months securing the protective barricade, that it now seems altogether too imposing to open. I'd been in the dark for so long, that to gaze at the sun made my eyes shut tight. Too hungry to feast. Too hot to set alight.

Sitting back on her heels, Lea rubbed at her chin and bashfully chanced a piquant glance at my lips. God, it was as if someone had blasted open the escape route door and the pressure had been simultaneously sucked from the cabin and my lungs. For those few seconds of inner turbulence, I could hear nothing but the hum of the jet engines and a faint ringing in my ears. She desires me. It kills me. But, no, that wasn't what turned me into the crying mess that I currently am. I'm fully conditioned in the art of suffering my own dramatic internal reactions. All too well accustomed to the weakness in me. Gosh, no, it wasn't that. But how could I not notice that look? How could I not be blown away by the meaning behind it when it happens? Annihilated every time. But it wasn't that at _all_.

"Hey, uh, Dianna, while I've got you, I was gonna ask, ah..." she had begun, setting the re-filled chips bag on her lap before becoming distracted. Getting to her feet, she ran off momentarily in search of a means of disposal. "The Popchips popped," I heard her say to a tall female flight attendant. "Think we got 'em all."

Anxious but patient, I awaited the completion of the question intended for me. Still kneeling on the rough, knee-prickling carpet as if praying to her greatness - a posture of reverent supplication - I watched as she approached. "What were you gonna say?" I croaked while mentally preparing my heart with its very own little inflatable life-vest.

"Oh, that, yeah." She tugged me to standing by my sweater sleeves, inadvertently pulling the too-long floppy cuffs completely over my hands and making me to look like a kid wearing a hand-me-down. "Here. Sit," she commanded under her breath, generating a sharp but not unpleasant shiver along the length of my spine.

Half ushered, half slumping into the window side of a pair of unoccupied seats, I had bashed my leg and bitten my cheek to prevent a loud squeak from escaping my throat and penetrating the relative silence. Long gone are constant in-flight fun and giggles: sleep must be gotten at all costs. Save for a few insuppressibly active minds. Certainly save for Lea and me in the wee small hours of this night. I must have looked pained when at first she turned toward me, my hip still throbbing, because she snatched her hand away from beneath my elbow as if it were her simple touch I had winced at. As a silent countermeasure, I pulled back my sleeve and slipped my left hand under her right. A tender palmer's kiss. "You look tired," she commented, unaware that it was the divine, warming sensation of her soft skin against mine that was forcing my eyelids to hang heavy.

"A little," I said with a sigh. "But I can't seem to relax tonight. My body is still thrumming from the energy of our last performance."

She had nodded keenly as if to say that it was the exactly same for her. "Totally! Like you've overdosed on both caffeine and sugar and your whole body is just wired and on fire, but you're too tired to do anything about it."

"Yeah! Exactly!" I smiled. So did she, but she also looked embarrassed, her thoughts presumably having strayed to carnal places. "So..." I said, breathing calmly to quell the tremors in my stomach. Above us, a lone spotlight starkly illuminated our two seats in an otherwise dimly-lit airplane: it highlighted scratches in the hardened plastic and slight wear in the upholstery. Pretending to snoop around, I'd used my free hand to tug at an empty packet of Luden's honey licorice drops that had been wedged behind a laminated sheet needed should death or salvation be imminent. The safety instructions, that is; not the drops. Exits that-a-way. Oxygen masks will magically dangle from there. Jump onto this fun-looking slide should you still have the use of your limbs post-crash.

In vain, I sought something to laugh at with Lea. Nothing seemed new or funny. Admittedly, that was possibly due to the tickle of her index fingertip sliding up and down the underside of my middle finger, which had stolen my ability for cogitation. Then, just as my heartbeat was starting to reverberate through my back muscles, her hand left mine and a photograph well-known to me was placed casually onto my palm in its place. I froze and frowned.

"I've been carrying around that book you loaned me. Only just had a chance to crack it open and, well, this, y'know, slid out," she explained, forced nonchalance concealing trepidation. "Were you using it as a place marker? You wanna put it back where it's supposed to go?" she prompted, a clarity to her speech informing me she wanted the matter dealt with.

A book was flopped onto my knee. My Kafka one. I was immediately struck by how silly I'd been. Not wanting her to see my nervous eyes dart, or the mild panic that tensed my jaw, I had turned toward the elongated porthole-style window at my right. The stiff plastic of my headphones scuffed at my neck uncomfortably, but I held the pose. "No, no," I said, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth and swallowing dryly. I thought I'd lost it, but she had it all along. "It's fine. It doesn't go anywhere in particular; it just, you know..." What was I supposed to say?

Far below, cities glimmered majestically, appearing like beautiful sparkling neurons linked together as part of an extraordinary superterranean nervous system. I felt Lea lean in close behind me. She nudged at my shoulder blade, unwittingly jump-starting my own synaptic responses. There's no small irony that she should find that particular photograph on this flight. There's a strange symmetry to it. Us, together, looking down on our fair land in all its moonlit glory. As per usual, my mind drifted. I spoke to her about how far, far below this piece of sky, might stand a lone person staring back at us from a house, park, café... anywhere. Watching us fly by, that person might obscure our entire airplane - blinking lights at the tips of its wings included - with nothing more than a finger raised in front of their eye-line. From significant, to insignificant with the simple movement of a single extended digit.

"Everyone on this plane is extremely significant to me," she responded wisely and with a softness that comforted me. "Dianna... who's in the snapshot?"

I frowned. It seemed ridiculous to me that she'd even need to ask. My reply was the same as the one I _should_ have given a long time ago: the night I took that picture. The unspoken rhyme. Swiftly, I turned back - our bodies intimately close - and, with no desire to skew the truth, I stated my answer quite frankly: _"You." _Perhaps that should have been the moment when I, with courage on board, made up for mistakes once made. Regretfully, I didn't. "It's you, Lea."

"It is?" The photograph was snatched from me. Holding it closer, she carefully re-examined her own figure cast into silhouette by the intense skies over Hollywood, where the myriad of glowing colors appeared to have been created by some sort of natural tropospheric chromatography. "I don't remember... oh. Wait." And there came revelation. I wonder if she ever thinks about that last fall and the night I made a fool of myself with anger borne from frustration. "It's a really amazing shot. You're so talented."

The faintly worn edges of the picture spoke volumes: they told the story of fingers once repeatedly dragged around the perimeter. Just as the crinkles and stains spoke of roughly-pressed kisses, smudged tears, spilled tea and candle wax. It had been adored with pure, selfish abandon. It had been loved in the way I had never felt free to do with her. There had been no danger in caring for that inanimate object, no consequence. Until tonight. Except, contrary to expectation, she chose to ignore the importance of not only the photograph's battered appearance, but also its general existence. Somehow it didn't seem unusual to her. Perhaps she chalked it up to my sentimentality. "And I look pretty damn good," she said, reverently slipping the picture between a couple of randomly selected pages and gently tossing the book onto her bag across the aisle. From significant to insignificant in just a fraction of a moment. Just one casual movement of her hand. Gone. Yet still significant to me.

Lea was still so near to me at that point. She smelled so darned good. "Yeah," I said, my sexual stupor evidenced by poor enunciation. Her body was a mere breath away from mine. I wanted a storm to arrive, for the belt light to blink on so that I'd have an excuse to pull at her hips and help secure the clasp around her lap. I wanted to dance with her. To roughhouse like I do with my other friends. I just wanted to be closer. Feeling stirred, I ran my hand through my hair and gave it a good ruffle to feel more awake and in control. And then I saw it: I saw a fever rise in her cheeks. I saw what I do to her. How I make her pulse race and her chest rise when she thinks I'm not looking. That is what I _really _do to her. So different from flirty Lea, these reactions are the uncontrollable ones her body undergoes that tell me just how much she wants me. Even when I'm travel-worn, dressed in de-feminizing clothes and borrowed shoes, tousled hair and no make up, I can arouse more than just a simple interest in her.

This didn't cause the emotional outburst either. I remained calm and, wallowing in the feeling, I simply stretched my neck and pushed at my hair again just to see if I could stimulate those responses again. But she caught me staring and timidly sat back, facing forwards. Pressing her head against the headrest, she looked upwards and sucked air through her teeth. "Been a while since we've really talked properly. Well, since... y'know," she whispered. Pinching the bridge of her nose as if suffering sinus pain, she exhaled sharply. "We're all good, right? No awkwardness? I've been trying really hard not to invade your -"

"She hates you," a groggy-sounding Chord had interjected from his seat one row back. Which one of us was he referring to, I wonder.

"Hey! Shuddap, don't say things like that," Lea had dismissed with whining annoyance as I shuffled forward and twisted around to look behind us.

"Just make up already. C'mon. Stop fighting." Through the gap, I could see him rooting around in a bag while Mark slept soundly, his head occasionally nudging at Chord's shoulder.

"We're not fighting," I protested with confusion. "Why did you think we'd been fighting?"

"Do I have to remind you how many sisters I have? I _know _the signs. You've been like this for forever," came his riposte that was accompanied by a pair of raised eyebrows. "You haven't stood by each other in the huddle. I'm guessing one of you said no to duets with each other because none of your greats are in the line up. Not even 'Relator'. So, c'mon, it's pretty clear to everyone that you've fallen out. And that's really sad to see. Just forgive whatever it was and just kiss 'n' make-up. It's not worth it." With that he slipped on an eye mask, drove plugs into his ears and crossed his arms, settling back to join Mark in dreamland. We had no case for argument, nor any way to defend ourselves. And, as ever, the false accusal made me very agitated and nervous.

Lea drew close and said my name with a sense of urgency. Then, in a more hushed tone, she added: "I didn't do it." I asked her what 'it' was and she replied: "Ask for no duets. I know I'm known for bending Ryan's ear until it bleeds, but not on this. Not at all." Her nose briefly bumped against my jaw. I leaned towards her, begging for more contact. "I would have adored... uh." Suddenly she was wary of me. Guarded and unsure. Her left leg began jiggling just a fraction. "Did you?" she asked. "I mean -"

"No!" I replied with an adamant shake of my head, further swivelling on my seat and almost falling off the edge just so that I could look at her face to face.

"I could understand if you did, y'know. It can't be easy. Having this big knowledge hanging over you of... of y'know, of what I told you and you might be, like: 'Oh, that's way too close for comfort'. I'd be cool with that. I get it. But you do know that I don't have the capacity for secrets, like, at all. It would've got ugly if I had kept it cooped up." She attempted to smirk and sneer at once. "After all, I have trouble not telling the world our juicy Glee storylines! You can imagine what it feels like keeping something that huge from one of my dearest friends." I nodded because I understood. Secrets unspoken seem to me like portraits of Dorian Gray; no matter how sweet and exciting their beginnings, the longer they are locked away, the more they blemish and spoil. Just like that photograph of Lea. Just like my heart and the love in it for her. "So it wouldn't be a big deal if you'd asked for a little distance," she concluded. "I wouldn't be offended."

"I promise I didn't. I wouldn't. And I wouldn't lie about it." Brazenly, I reached across, grabbed her shaking knee and sought full eye contact. "Please don't forget that, Lea. It's _really_ important. It's not in my nature to lie." I wanted her to think about that time in her car when the torrential rain was falling and my words formed comparatively easily. I wanted her to have some kind of realization and be the one to reveal everything. Of course I also thought about how I've lied to her simply by never offering the truth. It needed to end. Because it truly _isn't _in my nature.

Lea pursed her lips, held my gaze and relaxed her shoulders. "No, right, yeah."

Of their own accord, no, of _my _own accord, my fingertips pressed more certainly at her knee as my thumb firmly traced up and down the inner seam of her jeans. I relished the feeling of her muscles tensing beneath my grip as I looked into her unblinking eyes. I wanted to see her desire intensify again. Just for a moment. I wanted to know how real it all was. To see if I could make her breath catch and temperature rise. And I could. Oh, God, I did. And from that point I wasn't fine; I was desperate. That fast shut door seemed to buckle on its hinges and slivers of light shone through. Everything I ever wanted was almost within my reach. "I don't want to be distanced from you," I said authoritatively.

I didn't want to be trapped there with a lightly sleeping audience either, but that didn't stop my stomach from aching with fear and excitement. A cool breeze from the air conditioning stimulated my sensitive state, and another sharp shiver ran though my body. A rapacious need arose in me which made my cheeks hot and my eyes glaze over. And that's when I made a decision to break out of my pattern of ever decreasing circles and try for a clean line. Damn the consequences, I told myself. If she could be brave, so could I. Little by little, I'd get there because, as the song goes, I'm such a tease and she's such a flirt. Bit by bit, I would wrench open that door and let through the world I'd desired for so long. My right hand still firmly on her leg, I slipped my other into her hair and trailed my fingertips over the outline of her ear and down the length of her neck. I wasn't just keeping her where I wanted her, I was keeping myself where I ought to be.

"Look, I _do_ know you," she said through a shuddering sigh. "I know you're not malicious or unkind. I know you're, like, the sweetest girl that ever lived. Yes, you don't lie, but we spend our lives being something we're not. And in our situation that's kinda dangerous." She sounded rehearsed, but the idea of Lea addressing a mirror and playing out a version of this very conversation served only to make me strangely invigorated. Clearing her throat, she continued. "Don't force yourself to do or say something just to be polite, Dianna. Promise me that." At the far end of the plane, a few voices could be heard and I struggled not to be distracted by them. Her hands slipped over mine and squeezed hard, stopping their movement. I was so focused on her fluttering eyelashes, that I almost didn't hear the words her mouth formed. She was trying so hard to maintain her composure; the composure my presence alone was causing to waver. "I'd be _so _upset if our friendship got hurt because you pretended to feel the same way just to make me feel good."

A few sacred undisturbed seconds remained. My line of sight dipped to her lips and hers to mine. "I wouldn't," I breathed.

"But you are."

She hadn't meant those words to burn as much as they did. I know that. Her intentions were good. But me: the great pretender? Maybe it's what she's always thought of me. And was she so wrong? I live my life running from one make-believe land to the next. And, no, I don't just mean acting. Only a person who was good at denying the truth could choose a life without over a life with. At that moment, I was living up to my new title by simply holding back the tears that now roll down my cheeks. In readiness for the domino effect of surrounding chatter and activity to begin, I blurted: "I do want to make you feel good, Lea. And I do not want to hurt our friendship. Ever."

"Christ. I'm so glad you understand." Lea exhaled with relief. "I was really nervous. I got really worried because... 'cause I guess... I figured that one day, y'know, that you might look at me and wonder if you could put yourself where _I _wanted you to be. You know? Because you're just so nice like that. And I know you kinda did that with Alex and stuff. God, I know I sound really big headed, and it's -"

"No, I mean... I meant -"

She smiled and reached up to cup my cheeks in her palms. "Dianna, It's fine. I know you love me. I don't want you to mix that up and start deluding yourself into believing that you see me as anything more. I think it's pretty clear, especially after all this time, that's how it's gonna be, y'know, friends only. And I'm good with that. Really I am. I'm dealing. And I need you to deal too. Live your life. Be happy. I'm fine." The rabble around us started up as people began to realize that food was on its way. Brash noises. Yawns. Stretches. Talk of tomorrow. "Oh, hey, glad I didn't get to eat those chips after all," she laughed. "Fate lent a really weird hand in that one. You get back to your seat. Don't wanna get the wrong thing, right?"

"Lea..."

"Talk later." She slipped out of my grasp, blew me a kiss and disappeared. Just like that. Gone. My little by little had been a little too late.

* * *

_"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are? You're chicken; you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness.' You call yourself a free spirit, a 'wild thing', and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself." _- Paul Varjak - 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'

So thirty minutes on and I'm here; sitting on the edge of a tiny washbasin in a jet plane lavatory with my life flashing before my eyes. Mistakes flying at me like a barrage of hailstones. What just happened is spinning around in my head. Again. Again. "What do I do?" I say against my dampened sleeves. At this rate, if I wish to continue floating about in this thick, gloopy river of denial, I'll need to buy another ten boats for my excess baggage alone. I've never been fine. This has never been easy. I made her fall in love with me then left her in the dust. How did it all get so complicated? I am a torturer. Worst of all, she's getting over me before she ever knew that I could never get over her.

"I'm confused. Are you not in love with her anymore?" asks Chris, who is currently sitting on the toilet lid, supporting my legs and holding my sneakered feet on his thighs.

I look at him with bemusement through stinging eyes. Does he think these tears are the last vestiges of love I have? Does he think I deserve the title of great pretender too? "Chris, I'm absolutely saturated with love for her! So much so that it practically seeps through my skin, and I leave handprints of it everywhere I go," I battle, pressing my palms into the air.

"So says the girl who Solo-d her Princess Leia with that 'I know'," he replies, his face twisted with incredulity.

Another of my greatest mistakes: I told a lie and never took it back. "I did tell her that I love her."

"I frequently tell my garbage man that I love him; it doesn't imply any kind of commitment or intention."

Naya, who is wedged between me and the door, throws a squashed tissue at his face and he throws it straight back at her. It bounces silently off her forehead and back into his lap. The three of us only just fit in this confined space. "Oh!" she exclaims, as if the screwed up ball knocked an idea from her mind: "I just thought..." her attention returns to me "... it's not about what that medium said, is it? You need to forget that shit if it is."

"What? Who? When?" Chris looks at us agog, stunned by the fact that there is information of which he has not yet been made aware. "Tell."

"Just a quick one from that woman at that carnival," Naya says with a tilt of her head. "Y'know, the filming for the episode when I had to faceplant this one here." She roughly pinches my cheek and then smooths the area with her fingertip. "And, Chris, before you ask - because I can see you squinting at us - the psychic wasn't an actress, she was brought in to give Lauren guidance on her fortune teller scene. So she's the real deal, 'kay?"

Chris pouts. "I saw Carrot Top in Barnes and Noble once; doesn't mean he reads."

Naya ignores his dissension. "And she said... what did she say, D-Dawg?"

"Clearly today the D stands for droopy," Chris deadpans.

Scooping my hair out of my eyes, I mumble: "This and that." I can see Naya mouthing to Chris that she will tell him later. It really wasn't all that exciting. The reading formed nothing more than a set of fairly self-serving suggestions about life, love and how to pursue happiness. She had told me that if I kept trying to exclude frustration and sadness from my life, I'd wind up feeling empty regardless of what I replaced it with. In reaction to that, I ended up keeping it all together: the good, the bad, and the ugly. The medium also told me I was pretending. I'd forgotten about that accusation until now. At the time I thought she meant I was kidding myself that anything would happen with Lea. Now I understand she intended for me to realize that I'd been acting as if Lea meant very little to me. All through this tour I've been putting on a grand show of indifference so, naturally, when I tried to show my true self to Lea, she thought it was pretence. Why would she have cause to reason it out any other way? I'd pushed her away so many times. "Sorry for crying all over you both."

"We were getting worried. The bottle has to pop once in a while. It's better than imploding." Tenderly, Naya rubs circles on my lower back and begins snickering. "I haven't seen someone cry like that since Lea's hysterical sobbing..." her laughing ebbs away through the words as she looks at me "... when she had to do that scene where you, uh, died." Oh, God. I hadn't considered... I need to know. When did Lea fall in love with me? Was it then? Did I lure her into love? Did I woo her through my character every time I let myself trespass into the scenes? For how long had I been blind?

Tears rise in my eyes again and just fall and fall. "Hey, hey. It's okay," Chris reassures as he puts his strong arms around my legs and hugs my shins.

Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. "She loves me!" It never truly sank in before. Where have I been all this time? I've been so trapped. Listening but not hearing. Kidnapped by my own subconscious, I fell in love with being held captive. I want to go home now. She's my home and I miss her. There's no locked door. There's no door at all. She's mine if I want her. And I want her. I want her so much. The medium didn't mean I had to invite sadness in, she meant I had to accept the possibility. Without fear of loss we cannot appreciate what we have. I laugh, and it is _such _a relief. She loves me and I just want to jump around with joy. "She loves me!"

"Did it finally happen?" asks Chris. "Is she coming through the other side?" he comments, as if I'd been recovering from a drug addiction, which seems oddly accurate.

Naya looks at me with a cute pout. "Love you, you crazy little llama-goat." Suddenly there's a triple rap at the door and Naya yelps. "Jesus, I sounded like a gull then," she laughs. "Ocupado!" she yells sillily.

"Oh, Naya, I was looking for Dianna." It's my girl. My Wendy. My Lea. She sounds forlorn. We hear another knock. I think she's let her head drop against the door. I pray this means she's not quite ready to get over me. "She's probably with her little dance possé at the front playing that game again," she murmurs. Ah, Lexy and I sometimes get everyone to play 'The Floor is Lava'. That's what she means. "Or talking about how shoes are like cars and you can't drive them all the same." My boy Harry. "Or making big goofy teeth out of orange peel." Oh yeah! With Kevin. She's noticed every move I've made on this flight whereas I'd made every attempt not to be aware of her. No wonder she thinks I was just playing at being attracted to her when the time came. But she's no game to me.

Like a large anchor dropped into deep waters, I feel the weight and the burden of her love. It is amazing. I feel responsible for the care of it. Closing my eyes, I think about what I was able to evoke in her earlier and replay it. Over and over. I want it. No ifs or buts. No what ifs. "I can do this," I say.

"Is someone else in there with you?" she asks. A question most people might avoid.

"Patching Miss Naysy," Chris calls out. This is true. He did do. It's a long flight and she was getting antsy without nicotine.

"Oh right." Lea sounds disappointed. She wanted it to be me. I'm sure.

I have one problem: how do you convince someone that you're genuine when they believe you'd have a relationship with them based on friendship alone? I don't want her to think that. I want her to feel my deep affection. I want to show her how much I care for her. How much I adore and lust after every inch of her. I can't try to predict the future, but I can grab what I have now. In the present I trust. "I've got somewhere to be." At this statement, Chris and Naya look at me curiously. I need to end their torment as the keepers of my long-held secret. I've been unfair to them too. First checking my eyes for puffiness in the mirror, I swing my legs down and slide off the basin's edge. It won't be easy. After all, she may be mad at me when she finds out I've been holding back for so incredibly long.

"You okay?" Chris asks.

"I'm fine." I smile. "Honestly." I flap my long sleeves at him as I pull them up over my wrists. With moderate confidence, I open the door.

Lea looks past me and then back at me with amused astonishment. "All three of you in there! Have you guys been getting freaky? And without me?" she cackles. "That's just rude." My Lea. My girl.

"I've been thinking about what you said," I say. She goes still. "And I just want us to try being ourselves again. No second-guessing from either side."

She frowns and crosses her arms. "O-kay."

"So." Leaning in towards her right ear, I lower my voice to a whisper and bat my eyelashes purposefully. "Even though there are a lot of people here, we're amongst friends and I want to start by doing this." It feels so damn good to slip my hands around her waist again. And then...

"Oh. Oh. Oh my fuck, stop that you, agh, hideous creature," she wails as I tickle and grab at her in all the places I know will make her laugh. Which she does. Loudly. Everyone is looking, but I don't care. At least they won't think we've fallen out. I couldn't bear that rumor. Lea turns to scrabble out of my arms and run, but I drag her to me by tugging at the back of her shirt and pull her towards me. I have a tight grasp of her, my arms under hers, my hands clenched together below her ribcage. Suddenly the night featured in that once-lost photograph comes back to me to remind me that she knows dirty tricks. Oh, yes, here it comes. I welcome it. Her left leg kicks back and her foot pulls at the back of my knee. We both fall with a crunch into the aisle. I'll expect bruises tomorrow, and I know they'll make me smile when I see them.

Somewhere someone claps mockingly, others cheer and another makes a crude remark about mud-wrestling. Lea and I lie on the floor and giggle between cringing at the pain. I haven't felt this happy in so long. Starting today, I'm going to prove to her how important she is to me. Little by little, it will happen. Apple by apple from this upset apple cart. I don't know how, but it will come. It has to. Because my love for her only grows with each day, and I really need her to know about it.


	26. Sleight of Hand

Jess - After writing this story, I feel like I _have _experienced that kind of situation first hand. It's strange. However, in real life I was very lucky that my partner pretty much fell for me when I fell for her. I hope you come back stronger from your own encounter with troubled love.

kmcmurray7 - I'll start practising my signature. It's got a bit squiffy lately. :)

Chazykyu - Inspired choices as ever!

SaneTwin1-2 - I had comments saying I'd ruined it all and that I'd spoilt it for them. I'm oversensitive, and it sent me into a tailspin. :/ If I can pluck up the confidence, I might get hypnotherapy to help me cope better with criticism.

... You must all get tired of me apologising every time. :( Sorry this took forever to hammer into any kind of recognisable shape. The longer it takes, the guiltier I feel, and the less able I am to get any words out. This is a triple-length chapter; I could have split it, but it didn't feel right.

* * *

_"The gods in my feet know how not to hit the cable, how not to make it move when each foot lands. How do they know? They worked that out during their endless days of rehearsals. They know the slightest addition to the vivacious dance of the catenary curve would mean peril for the wirewalker." _- Philippe Petit - 'To Reach the Clouds'

Step forward. 2. 3. That's it. Skip. Jump. Turn. 2. 3. This stage positively hums under my feet as I tread these glowing boards. A thrashing beat kicks the speakers and reverberates through my chest like a tuning fork struck hard. Perhaps all this should seem humdrum after so long, but still every song swarms around me like a familiar skin-soaking typhoon, in which a torrential rainstorm of melody is pierced by thunderous drums. No matter my current state of mind, I will never not be stimulated and reassured by music; I will never not encourage it into my soul and let it scoop me up into its vibrant, inviting arms. Music is love and, for me, a panacea.

I skip past Kevin with an extra bounce in my step. He's singing his lovely little heart out, looking biker sexy in leather boots, with thick black liner encircling his steely-blue eyes. The crowd roars its approval. Run. Spin. Almost collide with Heather. Slap Mark on the butt. Stop. Slide hands down body. Slide hands down body again for good measure. Pelvic thrust. Mildly inappropriate grinding. Pout. Flirt left and catch Jenna's eye. Flirt right and catch Cory's eye. Flirt front and give the immediate audience an eyeful. Run hands through hair. The air feels so good on my neck right now. 180 turn. 180 turn.

It's absolutely sweltering in here. These skin-tight jeans might as well be painted on, and some poor soul will have to strip them off me later. A least we've been permitted to dispense with our jackets; heat exhaustion would not be welcome. I check my co-stars. Everyone looks a little sweaty and tired, but the energy level is still good and I'm proud of our esprit de corps. Right now I seem to have my in-ear monitor's bass up too high and I feel like I'm bobbling around at the bottom of the sea, but I feel amazing. Just amazing. On stage I am brave and bold. Here I feel all powerful and omnipotent. It is splendid. I genuinely treasure these moments. This too shall pass.

I must acknowledge as many fans as possible. After all, I know exactly what it's like to be an audience member. The thrill. Being out there is such a joy. It's something we all crave, don't we? To be noticed by a performer, I mean. And every person out there is so important. So many lives and stories. So much love in the air. Spin. Jump. Stop. Playfully, I whack out a few light beats on an air drum. Banks of startling roof-suspended stage illuminations eclipse my vision as I look for her. Aha. Straight to the end of the line I run.

Catching Lea's eye, I point at her chest, wink and invite her gaze to be drawn my way, which it is: sharply. Surprised, she stumbles and almost laughs, but - ever the professional - continues singing. At first she seems unsure of my eagerness to make her feel like we're inhabiting this stage alone, but steadily we rise to a confident almost yell into our microphones. Closer. Closer. Almost nose to nose. Fireworks burst in her eyes. I want her to have fun. To know that she can do this with me. She has been my focus for so long, but only these past days have I really begun to make her the center of my attention. Of course it's selfish too: I want to be sung to with this passion. Sing to me, Lea, I need it. More. More. Oh God. More. Please. I beg of you.

We soften our voices and maintain intense eye contact. She seems touched. Emotional. "That would be the only thing I'd ever need -" She is so beautiful and I lose my words for a bare moment as my stomach flutters "- money, fame and fortune never could compete." I say these things out loud and with pride. Here, on stage, I'm free to express myself with words of unbound, rapturous joy. Get ready to bounce. Repeat chorus. "Y-y-y-y-you." Nothing could bring me down. I'd do anything. I'd give up this whole way of life. "If I had you." If I had her.

Super. Supreme. It feels liberating. Even if it is just a silly pop song. Even if she doesn't understand the significance that lies beneath these glib lyrics. It's a way to convey my feelings, where once before I acted through the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) desires of my character. It may not seem like much, but I can't be blamed for the feebleness of my present actions. Lea sure as hell isn't making it easy for me to do it any other way. Ask her out to dinner: she invites along the world and his friend. Corner her: she's suddenly got somewhere else to be. Herding ducklings into rows is one hundred times easier than getting Lea all to myself. Trust me, I've attempted both.

I've begun to see hesitation in her. Lately, she has refrained from initiating any kind of physical interaction with me in the company of our friends. She plays at disinterest. Pretending to forget that she cares. Forcing herself to not feel the importance that every touch between us carries. Worse still, I believe her concern is based on that strange belief that I would take her to bed because I'm a 'nice' selfless person. How rotten that sounds.

Only here, performing to these beaming faces, does a little of the unreserved, uninhibited Lea show through. At any moment, I can find her arm around my waist or see her gladly smile my way. Taking my hand and holding it firmly holds no fear for her on stage. When we return to L.A. I will be lost without it. Of course, even when I do get her alone, how should I convince her that I want her body and soul? How might I demonstrate that this is real and not misplaced, pitying affection?

The yells, whistles and applause fade behind us as we all run off towards the dressing rooms. "I don't think Dianna's in a legal state of mind tonight," Lea jokes to no one in particular.

You see... that's exactly what I'm up against here.

* * *

_"Not even the best magician in the world can produce a rabbit out of a hat if there is not already a rabbit in the hat." _- Boris Lermontov - 'The Red Shoes'

It may not seem so, but I am most definitely taking things slow. How could I not? Though, perhaps, I should use the word 'gradually' because nothing seems slow when you're on tour. Yes, I'm gradually changing my perspective; breaking down that last crumbling bastion of denial. Tom Waits once spoke on the subject of how difficult it is to stop doing those things to which you've become truly accustomed. His advice: start by dismantling yourself, scatter the pieces, cover your eyes and blindly put yourself back together.

And... and I have a vague recollection of Lea telling me something similar once. Fall apart; only then will you discover where the pieces truly fit. I think I've successfully done the former and now, by some means, I must complete the latter. I won't be a new person; I'll just be the same me, but a whole lot more... orderly-minded? I don't know exactly, but whatever it is, it had to happen one day: no matter how pretty the sky is, gravity always wins. No longer will I find comfort in pain and cowardice. Mustn't. Shan't. Can't. Won't. Please don't let me.

"Go figure," I hear Lea say as I tune out those sitting with me backstage on this hard, polished floor, and fixate solely on her. An angel in a black and white dress, she stands with her back to the wall and looks wistfully at the rigging above her head as if it were a starlit sky. Darren leans in close and speaks directly into her ear. She chuckles and takes a sip from a bottle of water. The fact that my heart feels like it's trying to claw its way out from under my sternum - to briskly, if irrationally, march over there and and push him away - does not show on my straight face.

Batting her lashes, she begins pulling at his lapels, then brushes lint from his shoulders. A pang of longing and regret seizes the muscles in my lower abdomen. "So, yeah," she sighs. "I was watching and thinking: 'My hair always sorta squeaks when I wash it', y'know, when I run my hands over it in the shower, and ever since I watched that particular episode, which was on, like, forever ago - and I mean, like, years - I've asked every hairstylist about it and no one gives me a good answer."

At least, I _think _that's what she said; there may have been a few additional filler sounds and a curse word or two. Or three. Despite their chit-chat not being remotely salacious (personal visions of sudsy Lea aside), I keep a keen ear turned their way. Now she's the one whispering. I hear nothing and my lip reading isn't as good as it should be. Must try harder.

Darren's expression transforms into that of an impish, impudent first grader. They giggle as he picks up her left hand and tenderly massages her palm. His head nods forward. He's going to kiss her! Oh God. No! Like a hand smashed against a piano's keyboard, my chest feels as though someone has pressed all of my ribs at once, and two rows of hammers abruptly hit my heart-strings to produce a somber, discordant murmur.

Wait. My mistake. I don't know why I thought that. Breathe. I just assumed... silly brain. Seeing things. Envy is strangely painful sometimes. I want to be as close to her as he currently is; of that I am truly jealous. Tossing my hair petulantly, I scratch at my eyebrow to prevent it from arching visibly. Hell, I'm so ridiculously new to this. Learning to embrace the unknown. Determining how best to fall from the tightrope when it becomes untraversable.

I know it must have looked like I always had the ability to do such things. No, I'm a regular girl with regular hang ups. I am not infallible. All I can do is hold my arms outstretched to the sides, keep my eyes on the horizon and pray for balance. Here in 'the big time' everything seems amplified and, more often than not, blown out of all proportion. I didn't fall in love with the girl next door. There is absolutely nothing simple about this. One false step and, well, the world will be my critic. Her critic. Our critic. In most people's eyes, Lea is not a single woman, and if they should discover that she's in love with me...

She. Loves. Me.

Those words still hit like a triple punch, pinching tears from my eyes and pressing the air from my throat. They make me want to say damn it all, tell the media to go screw themselves and give up my worldly possessions to pay for this debt of burgeoning happiness. When I pause to ponder the possibilities of her love, I feel like a ghost among the living. Reality seems so intangible. Pushed onto quite another plane of existence. All too unreal. What is life? What is sleep? I thought I had difficulty seeking slumber before, but now my mind plays racing games with my pulse; one always chasing the other as I attempt to rest my weary head. In every sense, I am both delirious and quite out of my mind.

Of course, as usual, I digress. That particular tendency of mine will always sink directly back into place. An ever-ingrained feature of my personality which, incidentally, I would never want to lose. Beautiful disruptions will always be welcome. After all, sometimes the cracks let the light in. I was always glad to be torn apart by love. Maybe too glad. Now, I hope to also be mended by it. More digression. So where was I? Oh yeah. A week or so ago, Theo attended one of our performances, ostensibly to support his girlfriend, but his desperately brief visit backstage to congratulate us all sparked interest. That, and his apparent nonchalance towards Lea, inspired a few barely-newsworthy articles and a light smattering of indulgent conjecture. Nothing out of the ordinary: I confess I looked on the internet. People suspect nothing and Lea - as instructed by the powers that be - hasn't yet revealed the truth that they are now just good friends.

In this strange land of celebrity, break-ups require a formal announcement or at least a well-managed leak from a 'source'. Magazines are full of obituaries: depressingly glamorized reports on the deaths of relationships. Flip to page twenty-four for a posthumous, in-depth discussion on prospective partners for both parties. Well, I know what I mean. Oh! Did I say? Apparently I am currently dating no fewer than two of my ex co-stars, and I'm also having a dirty fling with a talented filmmaker with whom I had the pleasure of meeting for approximately two of your earth minutes no less than three months ago. Quite the demimonde! I must let my mom know what sort of a harlot she brought into this world.

I wish I'd at least been sent a list of suitors for approval before it all went to print so that I might select the most incongruous or unlikely partnerships. 'I'm to be Dianna Walken you say? Why yes! Christopher and I are to be married in the Spring before the triplets arrive.' At least that would be fun. God, I hope Lea doesn't believe any of it. The media are an indelible part of my life now, but I don't believe I'll ever be quite used to them. They are usually the unwanted third wheel at any date. It's a case of: 'Pass the wine and duck the camera, darling'. It was the price I had to pay to be here. The price we all had to pay to follow our dreams.

On that note: our very own little movie crew is here today. They'll hover for a time before buzzing off like little honey bees in search of pollen. I love them as people, but find myself wary; I know that if something juicy comes their way then their journalistic sides will spring forward. If they see Darren and Lea, they'll zero in. They'll assume... they'll assume there might be more than meets the eye. He's a taken man and he doesn't see her that way, but... but his hand is slipping further down her back and skating across her hip. Just look at how easy his affection comes and how readily she receives it. Romance sells.

Apprehension is making my leg and jaw muscles clench tightly. Rubbing my nose to stop the tickle of emotion, I absently clamp my teeth either side of my thumbnail and inadvertently create symmetrical dents in the nail polish. I can feel myself grimacing. I am absurd. Selfish. Self-absorbed. I have no basis for this ludicrously jealous feeling, and... but yes, yes I do, don't I? It _is _justified. She's enjoying the sensation of his touch because I'm not standing in his place before her. I must keep reminding myself. Lea loves me.

Warmth floods my cheeks as my chest sags. I could step between them, take her hand and lead her away. I could pounce on her and pin her to the wall. I could kiss her. I could step on a crate and profess my love with as much vigor as a campaigner demanding equal rights in a land of injustice. Yes, those things might prove the conviction of my devotion, but there are so many strangers in our midst. Always so much scrutiny cast upon us. We are on tour. We are seeking everyone's attention and, as expected, we are getting it.

If only Lea would allow me an hour of her time. Half even. A minute away from prying eyes. There must be a way. She's stopped listening to Darren even though he's twirling a lock of her hair around his pinkie finger. Her eyes are on me now, a deep frown marking her forehead. I adore the intensity of this look; it saps my strength in the most wonderful way. It is gorgeous, invigorating and damaging in all the right ways. Ouch! I've bitten down too hard on my thumb. Karma finds a way. I must wipe this pain and disapproval from my face or Lea will never believe my smiles.

"So?" asks Harry, shifting closer. As he crosses his legs, the soles of his sneakers squeak and leave behind curved rubberized lines on the floor that remind me of a comic book character's motion trails. "What's your answer? I'm sure you'll have a good one."

"Lea," I breathe hotly against my knuckle. Okay. Didn't intend for that to just come out. However, I did promise myself that I wouldn't keep diverting from the truth. Honesty is the _only _policy.

He laughs at me, but keeps his focus on shuffling the deck of playing cards in his hands. "You haven't been listening."

"Yes, I have!" I laugh with a squeal, pulling up my knees and rocking to my right to rebound my shoulder against his. Regardless of the question asked, my answer would always be the same. What gets me up in the morning? What makes me cry? What turns me on? What is my aim in life? What drives me crazy? "It's Lea," I repeat, grabbing for his hand and accidentally sending the Jack of Clubs flying; it skitters away from us like a water boatman skimming across a pond. Surprisingly, no one gives me a curious look. To them, it's just the sort of standard, odd response I would give, and yet I still feel quietly liberated.

"What's me?" Lea asks, wanting in on the fun. A chill runs up my spine and loiters at the back of my neck. I hadn't even noticed her approach, but she seems to have retrieved the card and is flinging it into the upturned hat now balanced on Harry's knee.

We clap in praise of her surprising accuracy. "The sexiest word _ever_, apparently," replies Harry. Ah. I see: _word_, not person. Uh huh. Whoops. Okay, I admit it: I really hadn't been listening properly and I've missed a chunk of conversation, but I'll stand my ground because, well, it's still true. Why not? Harry's face carries a bemused, comical expression as, once again, he tidies his cards into a neat stack.

"Yeah, right, and what were everyone else's?" Lea snickers uncertainly, and although she is acknowledging the whole group, her gaze is constantly drawn back to me. I won't look away. I won't. When she wants me, my eyes will be waiting for her.

"Uh. Elbow. Tourniquet. Um." Harry continues to count out words (many unrepeatable) like he's relating a list of naughty students to a principal. "And mushroom was somehow involved -"

"Hey, come on!" Kevin interrupts from his position entirely supine on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "It makes you pout when you say it. See mu-" in a lightning-fast motion, Jenna reaches over and squeezes his cheeks to distort his words "-_shroom_," he finishes unabated.

A dastardly grin appears on my lips and, even though I can see Chris out of the corner of my eye, peering at us all like a cautious, unblinking deer, I can't help myself. "For me, it's still Lea," I sing-song loudly, shrugging as my smile widens and an arterial fuse is lit in my chest. Can I be so plain and still have her dismissal? I can't go back on my word now. No backtracking.

"Uh. Lea... meaning: 'An open area of grassy or arable land'. Sexy," Kevin murmurs with a purr as he slides his finger down the screen of his phone, which he holds above his head. "Yeah, I'd like to till that meadow," he teases, making kissy faces at Lea. In reaction, she glares and kicks the sole of his shoe, causing him to yelp weakly.

No. No. In my personal dictionary it states that Lea means: Sexy, adorable, wonderful, multi-talented, funny girl. Besides, it's the sound that's important. The way it resonates in my head. How it teases my tongue with the taste of fresh air when I call her name. How that lone syllable inspires thoughts which I cannot even hope to contain within the corporeal confines of my body. Lea. Lea. Lea. "I didn't mean -"

"You're all crazy." Lea purses her lips and looks at me with a suspicious half-smirk as she pushes her hands through her hair.

I snicker. Why I do this, I've no idea. Panic? Nerves probably. I quash my giggles with an enforced silence. Please. Please. I need for her to want me to say these things. "No, really," I say with the utmost seriousness. I know it's not much, but I'm going out on a limb. She has to start realizing. A smile still clinging to her lips, she becomes pensive and her eyes glaze over a little. Maybe, just maybe, she's -

"Oh! Fuck," she exclaims softly, her once sanguine disposition now marred by panic. "Have any of you guys seen my lucky hair clip?"

* * *

How I wish that I could suddenly perform a great display of legerdemain and produce the clip from behind her ear. 'Alakazam!' I would shout and she would surely hug the life from me. But no. For starters, I'd need to find the damn thing before I could look for a magician to tutor me in marvel-worthy prestidigitation. We're turning this room upside-down in the vain hope that this tiny object will come jumping out in the few minutes we have before Naya leaves the stage and Lea takes her place. With every second that passes, my hope wanes.

"I didn't think you were all that superstitious," I say, looking up to see Mark submerged head first in a deep trunk full of goodness-knows-what, causing me to have visions of an all new Mary Poppins. "Lea?" I call.

"Here." She's back over behind her rack of outfits, scouring each from collar to hem for the seventh time. I join her, but she doesn't look up as I repeat my statement. "I'm not really. Not a lot," comes her reply.

Her body language has immediately changed in my presence. Closed off. Insular. "I knew about the spilled salt thing," I mutter. How could I forget? She very nearly broke down my defenses that night with her hips and a heap of salt... no, wait, sugar. I smile inwardly, but then it occurs to me. What would have happened? If I'd given in to temptation back then and vied for the kiss I so desperately desired, where would we be now? Was she open to love all those months ago while I was trying my hardest to fall out of it?

"Huh? Oh! Well, uh, I guess. That wasn't... I don't... there was just that once," she dismisses, shunting a heavy hanger to her left. The screech of metal sets me on edge. Drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, she resists letting her teeth graze her lipstick. "But this... it's just..." She pulls a disgruntled face and hunches her shoulders. "I don't know. You get used to relying on something always being there. And if I don't wear it -"

"I understand." A security blanket. To my shame, my belief that Lea would never reciprocate my feelings was once mine. I despise that with each passing day, I find myself drawn again and again to that simple, benighted existence. Constantly lured back into the warmth of ignorance. Lea probably wishes she had never noticed her hair clip had gone. Without the knowledge of its absence, she would not be fretting now. But I mustn't think that way. I can't. I quit that addiction. Positive moves only. And yet it's still so hard to predict what innocent course of action will become the worst mistake. So what do I do?

Jenna strolls by and tugs Lea into a quick side-on snuggle. "We'll find it," she says before scurrying away to search the make-up tables.

I really should be searching. "Could you describe it to me?" I ask. "I can't quite remember what it looked like." Time is flying by, and yet Lea is suddenly still. She blinks lazily and it's clear from her expression that her thoughts are drifting. The stiffness in her posture loosens and she idly sways closer. Introspectively staring at my t-shirt, urgency quite departed, she reaches out.

I feel the delicate sensation of her fingertip lightly drag over the first black letter emblazoned on this bright white fabric. Down. Across. Two members of the theater crew walk by and I'm forced to hold my breath so as not to audibly gasp and draw their attention. Next letter. And on. It's almost as if Lea's forgotten that the areas she's teasing with tickling pressure are incredibly sensitive. I don't want to ask why she is doing this, because I don't want her to stop. "Uh," and a suppressed cough are all the vocal noises I can muster in my mannequin-like state. Too dangerous to say her name. Too evocative to speak.

"You _know _what it looks like," she adds coolly, this time moving diagonally southward to land on the letter G and trace its curves, which incites a tremble all along my right hand side, directly down to my toes. Feeling light-headed, I desperately try to visualize the trinket to avoid thinking about how much I want to swear aloud. This is not the time. This is not the place. "I did steal it from you, after all," she offers calmly.

Oh! She's ever so honest in her mischievousness. Brazen little minx. "And that made it lucky?" I ask, genuinely curious. I have no recollection of the theft at all. She keeps a piece of me as close as one might keep a talisman or charm. This notion absolutely, positively thrills me.

"I just like the memory attached to it. At least I think I do. You might not. Weird, I guess." Well, now I'm about as intrigued as any girl could be and wishing I hadn't bought quite so many hair accessories over the years. Startled by a noise, Lea looks up from my shirt and finally gives me eye contact. "Sorry," she blurts, regaining her sensibilities. I don't believe the apology was for the minor larceny; it was for contemplating my body in a moment's weakness. Another piece of me clicks perfectly into place, and I realize how much I wish she would have those moments a hundred times a day. I don't just want her: I need her. I've never fully been able to push her away because she completes such a necessary part of me. But then I knew that already, didn't I?

I can't help but want to know her secrets. "Remind me?" I try, still aquiver. She shrugs. No, then. I feel like she's unfurled a treasure map, granted me a glimpse and then quickly sneaked it away. Her prerogative, I suppose. "Well, whatever it was... create a new memory, and then steal something else from me! If that's what it takes, do it!" You've already stolen my heart, Lea, so steal a kiss maybe.

"Stop being so sweet to me." She gently whacks me on the belly, causing the looser lower half of my t-shirt to sway in the breeze generated by a rotating wall-mounted fan. Hypnotized, lost in memory, her eyes become drawn again to these two simple words on my chest that were once chosen to highlight just one facet of Quinn's personality. That which sets us apart, be it negative or positive, also makes us special. The writers could have listed any number of other traits, but this was the one that seemed most important. Plus it looks really cute when Chris and I stand next to each other. Self-acceptance: without it, we could never find peace or happiness. Lea inhales sharply and asks: "Stupid question. Honestly, really fucking stupid. But did you..."

There's a clatter as one of the in-house staff runs in looking ruddy-faced and perturbed. This time we both look up. They need Lea. They need her now. Disappointing. I love stupid questions. Lea looks pissed. "Come with me," I insist. Taking her by the wrist, I instinctively drag her behind me, to and fro between the bustle of people, until we reach our destination. An abrupt stop. I go to borrow a pen from a stage-hand. "Here." I grab her right hand and raise her arm to shoulder height.

"Hey hey. What are you doing?" she queries with a frown.

Pen poised, I... what should I write? 'You are amazing.' 'They love you.' 'We love you.' 'I love you.' All? Hardly concise. Carefully, I draw a heart on the side of her index finger. Just a heart. Maybe that will say it all. I seal the ink with a lazy kiss, paying no regard to the imprint it might leave upon my puckered lips or how others might perceive the action. "If you get nervous, just look there and remember that it's not luck that makes you great." Gosh, that was almost impulsive.

Lea looks at me searchingly. Time drags to an achingly slow pace and surroundings fade. The music lulls, but the steady beat stays strong. Lub dub, it sounds out, like the muffled pounding rhythm heard upon pressing your ear to a lover's breastbone. The gaggle of people nearby merges into the background, appearing as nothing more than an endless grand tapestry. The more I focus on Lea, the blurrier my vision becomes. I am unsure on my feet, though I stand steady as a rock.

Wordlessly, she gives me a nod of agreement and thanks. Does she still believe me to be whimsical Dianna who can't ever be taken seriously? Always scribbling hearts across everyone and everything that comes my way? I can amend my perspective all I want, but it's hers that must change. I can only point out the missing pieces of her jigsaw puzzle and show her how I fit. God, I want to know how we fit more than anything.

Disturbed by a tap to her shoulder, Lea is told she has twenty seconds left. Not that she doesn't know that already, having done this many times over, in what feels like an infinite number of places. Nevertheless: priorities. Make myself useful, and not a hindrance. This is her domain, and here she is at home; I would never want to jeopardize that. No one owns a stage quite like she does. Swiftly, I slink around behind her and dip my knees so that I can check the monitor pack attached to her slim belt. As I ensure it is sitting securely, she twists her custom ear piece into place. Clearing her throat, she tips her head back and hums.

I take a rare chance. Standing, I slip my arms around her and squeeze, my chin pressing at her left shoulder. Gradually, the humming turns to whisper-light breaths. Her dress is thin, and her expanding rib cage pushes prominently at my palms. It would be bliss if I weren't quite so aware of how awkwardly tense she is. Her hands slide over mine. She grabs hold of my wrists and I feel the twitch of her fingers, conflicted between prise away and pull closer.

"You're still being too good a friend," she says with quiet discomfiture, a restrained edge of satisfaction to her voice. I want her to see more in me. To see the person she has failed to see all this time. I want to show her everything I was ever afraid to show. Stepping free of the spooning embrace - prise winning out - she moves purposefully away. Grabbing a microphone in her faintly-shuddering hand, she looks at the roughly-drawn heart and prepares herself with a few deep breaths and a roll of her shoulders.

She doesn't need luck or charms. She really doesn't. "Do this one for me?" I chance with a laugh that was intended to be sultry, but comes out jolly and muppet-like. With Lea I feel incapable of acting normal, let alone flirting. My friends: dandy. The audience: perfect. Lea: nada. With the person where it matters most, I am a failure.

Looking back at me, she sticks out her tongue, then gives me a cheeky grin and a wink. It all seems... it all seems like it's for show; for the benefit of the people behind me who busy themselves with electrics and props. It's the façade she puts on when she feels small, unsure. "If it helps," I add, _un_helpfully. I'm not sure she heard over the rising applause and slam of dancing footsteps, anyway. "I mean," I call more confidently as she strides to the edge of the limelight, "I'll be listening, so sing this one to me." This time she definitely hears me.

Turning on her heel, Lea almost faces back towards me. Almost. She's clearly refrained from catching my eye. Gently, she shakes her head and then feigns a costume check, re-aligning her dress using the faint reflection found on a shiny piece of sound system equipment. She then says something to no one but herself. I hear little more than the edge of words, but her lips move quite distinctly, so I can make it out. She... she says: "Always have. Always will." Oh God.

If we were together, she might have shouted it out. I feel buoyed, poised and ready for action; set for an attempt at fitting a world of words into the few seconds before she steps out of reach. My opportunity is eaten up when Naya sprints off stage, catches her breath and - without warning - picks Lea up by the waist, drops her, and pats her on the behind before exuberantly kissing her on the head.

"Hey sexy. I warmed them up for you. Keep 'em cookin', hot stuff," she says, wiping a smudge of tinted lip-gloss from Lea's forehead. The glow to Lea's cheeks immediate. I wish I had that effect on her. Why didn't I sweep her off her feet? I had the opportunity. Some sort of to-do list is in order. Adored by so many, I have big shoes to fill.

Rushing past for a costume change, Naya casually lo-fives my outstretched hand before dashing away. Heather runs by and blows me a kiss. Then a horde of our dancers, which I barely have time to acknowledge, gallops past like a pretty pack of wildebeest. It's all so very quick. The cheering crescendos. I've missed my chance.

Way out of reach, Lea runs to center stage. Huddling in the darkness, I watch her and stand silent in the wings, just out of sight. Yearning, I look on in awe. I've heard her sing these lyrics so many times now - at first in the studios, then in the choir room on set, then from city to city - but only now do I know that when she squeezes shut her eyes, it's my face she visualizes. I'm sure of it. Me.

The thought ignites within my mind like jet fuel and sparkles behind my tear-prickled eyes. Thousands of eager people call, cry and clap, all utterly enraptured by her presence and entirely echoing the deafening chorus of wonder that this revelation has stirred inside me. I find myself completely intoxicated by all the ways Lea loves me. All those ways I ever wanted her to love me. I sing along as she inspires a frenzy amongst the audience, and when it comes to the line: "If I could, maybe I'd give you my world," I am on the verge of yelling. Eager. Excited. Empowered.

The happiness is short-lived. My words weaken to a mime. "How can I?" I watch her sing passionately with eyes tightly closed. "When you won't take it from me?" The meaning slices straight through me, cutting like a dull knife, tearing at skin to grate and scrape across bone.

For so long, I wouldn't take it from her.

And now she won't take it from me.

* * *

_"One mass is warm, while the other is cold. The warmer air rises, and the cooler air falls. Likewise, the low pressure area slides down the sides of the high pressure area. They swirl in and around one another, creating the beginnings of the storm."_- Documentary narrator - 'The Virgin Suicides'

"Please. Please. Please," my once traditionally craven side demands of her as we turn a corner and pace our way down yet another identical corridor with identical walls and identical doors. Every day we wake and, within certain limits, our day repeats. Every day I fail to change my life for the better. Maybe this will make the difference. It has to. I will plead until my tongue is twisted and my voice hoarse.

We come to an abrupt stop. "No, no. I'm not gonna sing the _boy _part," Lea insists uneasily, her elbow slipping out of my grip as she moves to search her back pocket. "Get one of the guys to take his place."

"I want to sing it with _you_. Chord said he's still well enough to play guitar for us. It... it's our last chance." It feels like fate. "Literally."

With discernible frustration, Lea drives her hotel room key card in and out of the slot in the lock. Red. Red. Red. "Fuck," she growls. Red. "Management will never agree to making changes." Green. "Finally!" The handle clunks and we bundle through. She tosses her purse and phone to one side and sits on the end of the bed.

"They have. They have," I enthuse. "They said we can play around a little if we want. They don't see any harm in it."

She winces and exhales. I wasn't expecting such opposition. "Look, I know you have the best of intentions."

"I do. I do. And -" my voice instantly lowers itself as I think about where I am "- to me, it feels like something we should do." I move to the window and watch the world walk by. The last performance. The last day before we leave. And now, at last, we're alone. She must have come to the last page of her little black book of excuses.

"To make everything okay?" she asks dubiously. "It doesn't work like that, honey." She pauses and looks troubled. "If you're worried about people thinking we've fallen out, then... then there's not a whole lot you can do about that. People will always believe what they wanna believe, and you don't have to be the one to shape or... or correct that."

"But it would be wonderful," I exclaim with ardent incredulity, glancing over my shoulder and feeling unutterably tense about what might come up in this conversation. "You can't imagine how good singing with you feels, and you said it yourself: we should have had a duet." I planned all this so many times, but my instinct now is to run. My talks with Lea never turn out right. Why should this be any different? I thought she would say yes at the drop of a hat, but here I stand completely bemused by her unerring resistance.

She picks up the television remote control and begins rubbing her thumbs over the buttons with agitation. "Just... please understand."

I have to do something that changes everything, and that something has to prove that I am _not _the girl who cried wolf. Holding onto the sill, I steady myself as if preparing to swivel on my heel and battle against the strong, brisk winds of her stubborn, strong-willed single-mindedness. The more I try to bring us closer, the further apart we seem to become. I can't bear that. I'm fast running out of ideas.

The sun's bright glare provides an excuse for tears to rise in my eyes. "Explain it to me. I would love nothing better." That should have been spoken sweetly, but it came out curtly because of my emotion-constricted windpipe. "Please," I whisper as I do an about-turn and lean my back against the paisley-patterned, floor-length drapes. I find comfort in the fact that I clash terribly with this impromptu backdrop. No hiding. No camouflage.

Lea's jaw tenses. "Because I can't sing those lyrics with you. I don't wanna say it like this, but it... it would burn a little too much right now," she says, dejected. "Y'know?"

"Oh." She's so happy on stage, blithe even. I thought... I thought it would let her express herself, but right now she'd probably feel like adding an 'un' to every 'lucky' in that song. At times Lea might appear to the world as complacent, and I for that matter might be perceived as complaisant, but the sides we present to the world guard a multitude of insecurities. It was naïve of me to think this would be easy for her. I often forget who she really is, just as she does with me. "I don't want for you to feel that way, sweetheart."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm doing real good, but I just, like, uh..." She sighs raggedly.

When these magical opportunities present themselves, the actual saying of words seems so impossible. If I should say how I feel, she might dismiss it again. And again. And again. Blood slams its way through my veins and pounds in my head. I'm dizzy with anticipation, but frozen by an overriding sense of guilt and muted by fear.

"Fuck it," she breathes. "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't wanna sing with you, it's just really hard, and I think that particular song would kinda... break me. I didn't wanna say that to you so explicitly and put it on your shoulders, but I... I need you to not push those buttons. Okay?"

I feel claustrophobic, weighed down by all that is wrong between us. Every time we've actually been alone and spoken of our feelings, it's all gone, frankly, to shit. Will this be another of those times? I want to be able to feel like myself around her. "Okay," I agree with a nod.

"I love being around you," she explains softly, "but I'm starting to feel like some crazy stalker. I'm always on the edge of saying or doing something dumb that would fuck up our friendship. We're on tour and everything is so, so amazing, and you're amazing! But it's also really intense because we're around each other practically every day, and the crowds amplify all these feelings in me and sometimes I just lose myself in... I just... I don't know. I don't want to end up spoiling something that I hold precious, y'know? Especially since you're probably getting the impression that I get off on everything we do together, or I'm mooning after you like a big-eyed puppy dog. Because if I were you, I'd find that more than a little creepy, right?"

I want to say: 'No', but all I can think about is how long I have quietly lusted after and longed for her. Fanatically so. "Love isn't creepy, Lea." Making a fist, I repeatedly score my nails over my palm. "Not from you." No, it's me that's the creepy one. "I would never think that. You are extraordinary."

"Way too kind, but thank you." Her forehead crinkles, so I make the move to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. I go to playfully tap the toe of her boot with the side of my shoe, but she quickly crosses her legs. When we're alone, Lea is so different. "With that much forgiveness in your heart, you're gonna make some guy really happy one day," she says weakly.

"Or girl," I add without thinking.

She lets out a short, sharp breath and begins roughly massaging her left shoulder. "Thing is, Dianna, you may say so, but I'm not; I'm not extraordinary. I'm jealous and possessive. This whole bunch of feelings I've been dealing with has pointed that out to me. There's some real darkness in here." She pats her chest with the flat of her hand. It makes a horrible hollow noise.

"You're human."

"I'm a fucking jackass," she laughs self-contemptuously through a sniffle, dabbing at her eye with the heel of her palm.

"I don't think that. I really don't." I want to make some sort of move. Let her know that I don't perceive her negatively. At all. Ever. Reaching over, my hand shuddering, I gently tuck her hair behind her ear and run my thumb over her blazing cheek. "I never would. How can I prove that to you?" Leaning in, I go as if to whisper something, but she's wise to me.

My arm is cranked down. "No canoodling the creeper! Jesus, what are you like?" she scoffs with a hurt chuckle, dropping my wrist. "I know you're trying to be nice, but I don't deserve it. I've been a jerk!"

Something boils and crackles within me. There's only so much a girl can take. "Nice?" I choke under my breath, awash with frustration. "Oh gosh, Lea, I'm not so nice. I'm _so_ mixed up and broken. You have been the _best _person. The epitome of grace and kindness. But you just don't see me for who I am." The heated words scorch at my throat, making it raw and sore. This is crazy. I mustn't wreck the only chance I have left, but... but I can't do this anymore!

"Dianna, you shouldn't feel bad. We discussed this. You can't apologize for the fact that this hasn't turned out the way _I _would have liked, any more than you can change the minds of the fans who want us together off-screen as well as on. Or even the minds of the ones who despise that our characters are together at all. Let alone the fact that our friends miss the old us. Shit happens. People change. You can't resolve everyone's problems. That doesn't make you a bad person; it makes you a beautiful one. Beautiful for wanting to try. I knew this would be hard on you." She looks away to conceal her tight-jawed suppression of tears. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you my feelings outright like that."

"No," I gasp, my cheeks flushing hotly. "I needed to know. It was a gift! A truly wonderful gift of love that I will treasure forever." This is all my fault. "Dammit, Lea. I spent so long waiting, completely prepared for the crazy, horrible moments to spring up on me. Pretending to be some sort of bold girl, braving the stormy seas, one eye patched so as to be accustomed to the blackness below deck." Lea squints at me, puzzled. "What I mean is: I never saw the whole picture. I lived a life spent half in light, half in darkness. Constantly armoring myself, ready for the worst that never came. I became so mentally dilated and open that I let everything flood in and it replaced all good reason. I didn't see this coming. If I'd known you'd fall in love with me, then..."

"Then I should have told you earlier instead of trying to get you to, like," she takes a moment to swallow hard, "make out with me or whatever after Theo and I broke up. And before you say anything to the contrary, that's the kind of stupid, sick shit I'm talking about." Her teeth tear firmly at her lower lip. "That's the honest truth here, Dianna. And it's _really _not something I'm proud of. In fact I'm pretty disgusted in myself." Cupping her hand over her mouth, she looks pale and nervous. "I have to tell you..."

My body is screaming to hold her, but I know she wouldn't allow it. I want to press my hands and forehead against the transparent barrier that slices the air between us. Nothing imaginary has ever felt more palpable. I cannot move beyond it, no matter how much I need to. Such a prisoner. "Go on. You can tell me anything."

"Uh." Eyelashes flickering, a hot, audible breath escapes between her lips. She rubs roughly at her left ear lobe, closes her eyes and clears her throat. "I got into our scenes a little too much sometimes," she confesses softly. I feel like a bag of flour has dropped heavily inside me, causing a cloud of white that reaches my eyes for an instant. "If you know what I mean." I know exactly what she means. First-hand no less. I am both elated and rising, yet flattened and falling. On fire and doused all at once. It pains me to watch the torture she suffers, but I'm stuck not knowing what to say or how to help. "If someone had done to me what I did to you," she continues with a wince and a shake of her head, "I'd just be so pissed. Right?" Does she ask for confirmation because she isn't certain, or because she wants me to agree? "I'm pathetic and disrespectful, and you have every right to call me an asshole, or whatever, 'cause I am."

"Never," I reply with conviction. As if I ever would. Staring ahead, I see our reflection in the television set: my blank, emotionless face and her figure at my side, slightly bent over. I don't know exactly what to say or where to go from here. "When?" I find myself asking. "The scenes... which ones?"

She holds her throat. "Don't ask me that. You don't wanna know. Just do what I said and call me an asshole and try to forget about it."

"Please?" I prompt robot-like. "I won't be mad at you, or disappointed. I'm only curious." At this, she looks at the ceiling and blinks rapidly, as if a waterfall were cascading over her face. "When did you first see me as something more than a friend?" I ask, my chest beginning to heave. Everything hinges on whether or not -

Her head tips back down suddenly. She interlinks her fingers and presses them to her chin as if praying for wisdom and strength. "That's not an easy question to answer." As she licks her lips, I can see that it's taking all her effort not to reassure me physically. Words were never her comfort zone despite her loquacious tendencies. Please touch me, Lea. I cannot break down these walls alone. Reach for me. Find me. I'm right here.

"Please try," I request, my expectant expression so taut that it causes a headache to run from temple to temple. I want her to say it's been a year. That way we will have been in love with each other for as long as our characters have. Then it will all be okay.

"I've always found you attractive." Her nose twitches and she pinches at the bridge. "And you knew that, didn't you? Because I always told you that you're stunning. Even right from the start."

Could she really have fallen for me since the moment we first met? Is that possible? My ego subtly inflates and fills me with hope. "Yes, you've always been sweet to me that way," I agree eagerly. Glancing sideways she sees me sitting with my eyes wide, body poised in expectation of further elaboration.

"Oh, don't worry! I didn't feel like this when we lived together. Hell no," she almost chuckles, stabbing a searing-hole through my fantasy as it wilts like a ragged balloon. "And I haven't been perving over you for years like you probably think I have." She laughs fruitily. "No, that really would make me a stalker." I feel nauseated and can do nothing but grasp at the crisp, white sheet beneath my hands.

"It genuinely started out as a teeny tiny infatuation, like, way after the winter break," Lea whispers, continuing to belittle her affection for me. "And don't worry, I never thought you were flirting or coming onto me when we were acting." Coming onto her? I was too busy coming apart at the seams. "I know the directors sometimes told you to go for it."

I can imagine the time she is referring to, but I was never given any such instruction. I had lost control. Simple as that. I had lost control because I thought it would be the last time I would ever kiss her. I cried through that scene, but she never differentiated my tears from the rain.

Lea sort of snickers at me, so I try to smile. "I didn't really understand my true feelings until later, so I have to admit that I wasn't so much acting in the scenes from the prom, as sort of living them," she adds, now flinching at her own words.

I am reeling. "Our prom scenes?" Even now I can recall the sensation of her hands sliding down my back. She thinks she took advantage of me, but I had savored every second. "I never realized." I am so upset that I never realized.

"I fell for you before that, but we hadn't had any, you know, kissing scenes in a while where I could have, uh, found any personal, uh, benefit... so it was kinda no harm no foul before then. Anyway... for all the times when I was clingy or held you funny, I'm really sorry. I should have been a grown-up about it. Instead it was like I was a teenager again: all gimme gimme gimme. I should have treated you better. I know better now."

It feels like those days happened only yesterday. Barely half a chapter ago in my life story. Her love for me is still fresh, new and - despite what she might say - pure. "Lea..." I say timorously.

"Yeah?"

My love for her has not waned, but I had let it become jaded and unpolished. Once she realizes how selfish I've been, her opinion of me will change for the worse. Her supposed crimes are nothing compared to my continuous acts as a crooked lover, smuggling kisses and stealing close touches whenever they were available for the taking. My chest is so constricted. I am at breaking point. "Thank you."

She looks at me with disbelief, even going to the length of jumping up so she can turn and look down on me. "You're giving _me_ thanks for telling you I got off on your kisses a bunch of times? Wow. You are truly are an _amazing _person."

"No, Lea, you are."

"But why?"

"Because no one has _ever _made me feel more wanted than you have." At this, she stares as me slack-jawed and frowning. I have shell-shocked her. I have shell-shocked myself. I have to get out of here before I have a panic attack. "Don't worry about the duet tonight. Silly idea," I say, forcing a smile. "Tonight we all sing. Tomorrow you'll be home. It will be great."

Lea breaks the barrier and grabs my hand to pull me to standing. She grips tighter and I see questions in her eyes, not one of which is brought to life. Instead she pouts and says: "I'll be sad when it's all over."

"Me too." I slip free of her grasp and make for the door in an attempt to get out before the banks burst with a flood of regretful tears. "Keep your eyes open tonight. I lose myself every time we perform, too. Feel free to come find me."

"I'll hold you to that," she calls after me as I leave. "I'll find you every time."

Except this is the last time.

* * *

___(Translated from the French) _"An unfamiliar city is a fine thing. That's the time and place when you can suppose that all the people you meet are nice. It's dream time." ― Louis-Ferdinand Céline - Journey to the End of the Night

Leaning back against the brick wall, I feel the thud of vibration caused by the music playing inside. 'Come join me! It's wonderful here.' I tap in the message and take in a big lungful of fresh night air. Somewhere in the distance a funny little three tone ambulance siren blares and then disappears out of earshot.

I receive a reply: 'Haha. No! You're insane,' replies Naya. Before I can respond, another pops up. 'Though this jet lag is seriously telling me I should have gone with you.'

'It was so close. Couldn't resist.' My shoulders automatically shrug when I find that a tall, shadowy figure has sidled up out of nowhere and is talking to me. I haven't caught what he was saying or motioning about, so I urge him to tell me again.

He repeats his words with no less haste or consideration than before. I listen more intently this time, scooping my hair behind my left ear and leaning in towards the young man. "Avez-vous du feu?" he asks simply.

"Um." I pat the pockets in my dress through some historical built-in instinct. I used to carry a lighter until recently, but giving something up means putting yourself right out there. No safety nets. "Non. Je suis desolée," I apologize, waving my empty hands at him. He wanders off around the corner in search of another likely candidate. I'm left alone to stare at the bright stars and enjoy the heady warmth of this light summer breeze.

I look back to my phone which seems infinitely brighter than any of the lights that line the street at the end of this narrow alleyway. It's like holding a small moon in your hand. Naya has written back: 'Have you called her yet? You know she was pretty bummed you weren't on the flight.'

I scroll through our conversation history. Lea is mentioned on a continuous loop. Naya keeps trying; I guess she's a fan of love. I type several different sentences, deleting each before eventually sending: 'Our relationship got misaligned along the way. We've never been in the same place at the same time with the same intentions.' And now I've run away. The pattern continues. Naya is typing.

'Whatever you say, boss.' Seeing that on a screen makes it feel colder, more harsh. Of course, if she were feeling grumpier, I'd have received an: 'I love you, but that's bullshit.' Yet, still, I consider myself chastised.

'I know I've made mistakes,' I zip back to her.

'As do we all. So get on a plane, go knock on her door and give her the chance to love those mistakes,' flops onto the screen.

I send back a dejected-looking Emoji face.

'I've gotta go now. Lunch date. Don't do anything stupid.' I'm pretty sure she means: 'Don't sleep with anyone just for the sake of a little distanced, intimate comfort,' or maybe she doesn't, which implies I have a very poor opinion of myself.

'Love. Xxx.' Send. Without waiting for a goodbye, I throw the phone into my bag and knock my head back against the wall. Eyes closed, I try to let the night draw out all the poisons from my soul. The rich, distinctive sounds and smells of the city wash over me and ease my tired, aching heart. I need to be cleansed.

I'll write Lea a letter. I'll tell her everything and give her the opportunity to work through some of the resentment before I return. No misdirection. No smoke and mirrors. I might even send her my journal; that would really strip me bare. Lea deserves the truth. Yes, tomorrow I'll write.

She's probably still asleep right now, possibly entering, say, the fourteenth hour of nap time to make up for all that was lost on tour. Even imagining her curled up in bed or dozing on the couch makes me feel awkward, like I've failed to seek permission and someone somewhere is glaring at me. She's not mine. And she's not mine through no one's fault but my own.

I thought I'd found the key, but instead I found I'd already shot myself in the foot before I had even begun. I now stand on one leg on this never-ending tightrope in the clouds. I can't move on and I can't step back. At least the view is pretty up here.

This night hums with a gorgeous intensity that caresses my skin, but inside I feel perpetually empty. Perhaps I'll find a few kindred spirits indoors who will distract me with fine wine and heated discussion of a few eternal verities. Fill me up with philosophy and fun until I can barely move from the weight of it all. Lightly pressing my fingertips to my eyelids, I exhale with a shudder.

Startling me, the propped open side door to the bar swings wide open. "Oh, uh, pu-pardon," a woman, not local, calls out.

Before I even think to look, the door slams completely shut. Oh fuck-a-doodle-do. That fire exit was my way back in. I'm not even supposed to be out here, but I escaped while the first band in the line-up blared noisily and the raucous, rowdy audience chattered interminably. I'll have to find my ticket and go around -

With a clunk, the door re-opens. "Shit. Sorry!" It's the same woman; she's American and sounds Lea-like. I laugh at myself. I seem to hear, see and feel Lea everywhere; it's a mild, re-occurring illness. But this nice person came back. How sweet. It goes a little way to replenishing the good feeling inside.

"Sauveur! À votre bon cœur!" I call en français despite the fact that she may not understand. Well, as they say: when in Rome. Perhaps I should find her. Just for a little intrigue. Perhaps she is the one who will take my mind off matters this evening. I'll make her laugh. Yeah, I'll make her laugh when she realizes I'm American speaking in not very good French to another American.

"No problem!" echoes out into the alley.

I may be projecting my wishes here, but surely there can be no mistaking... "Lea?" Surely not.

"Finally!" she shouts, then skips out to join me.

I blink at the sight of her standing there: an aberration; a snowflake falling in the desert; a diamond washed up on a seashore. My brain cannot cogitate this at all. Have I been drugged? Have I fallen into a deep sleep? "Is that really you?" She steps forward and we both half motion for a hug, but it doesn't happen. We are ghosts in this night, unable to embrace without some sort of cataclysmic effect, or simply falling directly through one another.

"I thought you were some girl having a cry. I could barely see you," she comments as I stand dumbstruck, mouth agape. "You know this isn't really the kind of place people like you and me should be hanging out in. _This _is the kind of place people like you and me get stabbed in."

My uncertain smile broadens. "I feel at home here; the dark is soothing."

"Last time I looked, you didn't seem to have any cockroach-like qualities," she jokes, scanning me up and down. "Only you could come here and find the dankest, most gruesome corner of this beautiful city and call it home." She tilts her head to one side and looks at me like she loves me, which of course, she does.

"I've been here during the day; it's really quite lovely. You assume the shadows hide horrors." This is so surreal. I press my tongue to the back of my front teeth and pause. I didn't think I'd be speaking to her so soon. "Lea, why're you here?"

"You don't sound too overjoyed to see me."

I thought I wouldn't want to see her. I presumed the pain would be too great. But now... it feels different. For the first time in months I feel like we're truly alone, without expectation or observation. "I've never been happier." And it's true. "I miss you always, even when we're together."

She frowns, trying to determine what my statements imply. "I missed you on the plane. I just processed and processed the whole way home. Then I got some sleep and when I got up and I was, like, looking out my bedroom window and I... I mean, we were away so long and I just forgot. Right? And it just struck me. I started to think that maybe I was wrong, and that I'd been right before, but then I thought maybe I _was _wrong, and... and I'd like to be right again." She flaps her hand, irritated by her lack of eloquence, willing herself to get to the point. "So I had to ask you -"

"You flew back around the world just to ask me a question?" I squeeze the shoulder straps of my bag, still struggling to find a semblance of tangibility in all this.

"Just? Jesus, that's a depressing thought," she says quietly with an almost imperceptible movement of her left eyebrow. "No, _clearly _I just had a pocketful of euros left over from Ireland and I thought: 'Fuck it, I'll get breakfast in Paris,'" she banters sardonically.

She flew around the world just to see me, even though barely a whole day has passed since we last hugged goodbye. I think my chest is going to cave in. "And you just so happened to walk into the right bar? That's amazing. Magical even. Amazing. Amazing." Who knew life could do such things?

"Ha. No. I wish." She laughs, perhaps at my innocence. "My battery died while I was asleep on the flight. I had a heart attack because I couldn't remember anybody's number to call, let alone yours. I don't _need_ to remember anything because I have an iPhone, and I don't _actually _remember anything because I have an iPhone, right?"

"Right."

She drags her hands through her long glossy hair and twists it over her shoulder. "And the one number I do remember is my parents', but they're on vacation. So I'm standing there in the airport with my purse and a phone that's as much use as a beverage coaster. Can you believe it?"

Well, yes, because she always forgets her charger.

"And I actually considered latching onto a paparazzo at the airport to bribe him to find you, 'cause they never fail, do they? Anyway, my pride wouldn't let me. I thought: 'I'm Dorothy Gale for fuck's sake; I've got prior experience! I can do this; it will be an adventure'." She takes a breath, but there's more, and I haven't the heart to stop her. "In the end, I grabbed a cab, got myself around with broken French and uptight American, then wandered about hoping that you'd just turn up if I sent out a message to the sky. That didn't work because this isn't - what's that movie with the Russian mice?"

"Mice?" My brow knits as she snaps her fingers repeatedly.

"Oh. An American Tail, yeah, but it's not even New York. I would know what I was doing if this were New York. Yeah, so, after staring endlessly at the Eiffel Tower until its shape had melted onto my eyes, I met this really sweet bunch of doped-up art students and they suggested searching Twitter on one of their smartphones."

"Twitter?" I don't get it. Send help.

"Yeah. For your name. And y'know what? Once you wade through all the tweets about how epically beautiful you are, and how they all wanna _do _you, it's like a tracking device. I saw Dianna here. I saw Dianna there. Some pap shots of when you arrived. It's actually really... I wanna say useful, but my mouth is gonna go with disturbing. Took a while to check through 'cause they talk about you, like, endlessly, but in the end, we got it. The tweeter had typed out your name as Diane Argon, so how we found that is a fucking miracle."

This is all a miracle in my eyes. "They saw me here?" I say, quickly trying to soak up her highly expository story, which I can't even take in because I'm still stuck on the whole concept of her hasty journey around the globe just to see me. The thought of her stranded in an unfamiliar place makes my sinuses hurt with unshed tears of concern and happiness. She could have gotten hurt or lost, but she didn't. Thank goodness she didn't.

"No, they saw you at the _last _place, and I'm grateful that you like talking to weird strangers because the barista there gave me the name of the band you were gonna see. Of course, he now also has a fake number and thinks he has a date with me next Saturday, but let's not worry about that." She sighs and looks like she wants to just drop into my arms and sleep. "You are such an incredible sight for very sore eyes."

"You too." I don't care that her presence is unexpected, I just feel wildly stimulated by the mere sight of her. "I can't even describe how much."

She squeezes shut her eyes and presses her lips together. "After hours of chasing you around, you're probably gonna think my question is really stupid."

"J'adore les questions stupides," I sigh with a smirk.

Rolling her eyes at me, she rubs at her cheeks and looks flustered. "Look, you know me, you know I'm a real go-for-it gal. I get up there and take what I want, so it's been really hard for me to sit back on this. So I need to know... have you ever _genuinely _had, like, even the smallest crush-type thing on me?"

Oh gosh. "I - "

"'Cause if you have - and I know it may sound dumb - but I'll ask you out. It's as easy as that. No pressure. If you haven't ever, y'know, crushed on me then tomorrow we go crazy shopping..."

I'll answer if I can get a word in edgewise.

"... because I didn't bring anything except a rose that some guy sat on, which made me yell at him, and that got me moved to sit by one of the crew in case I became hysterical or some nonsense."

My heart is beating out of my chest.

"Except I need to contact my bank to get my card reactivated because they blocked it because I'm in the wrong country at the wrong time. And I gave my last twenty to a homeless guy because I didn't realize it was my last twenty. Hell, but at least I had the sense to pick up my passport before I -"

"Yes!" I exclaim, surprising myself.

"Y-yes what?"

A revolution in my heart. A maelstrom in my chest. A set of drums in my stomach beating out a tribal rhythm. I must give her that chance to love my mistakes. If I don't say it now, that time will only come later. I doesn't feel like it happens later, so it must be now. "Yes, I had a crush on you."

She stands a little straighter and, exercising caution, keeps her reactions discreet. "Had? 'Cause if there's a chance -"

"A chance? There have been a thousand chances, Lea, and I somehow missed every single one of them." We are both pre-emptively shaken by this. She watches my hand intently as I raise my finger and indicate for her to listen. "But you must let me get this out. And when I say it, I don't want you to laugh or say I'm lying."

Defensively, she wrinkles her nose. "I wouldn't -"

"Please," I insist, my swollen heart begging for this most necessary verbal release.

"Okay. But I... I need to see your face properly first." Taking my hands in hers, she holds my arms out to the sides and walks backwards. Step by step, she carefully guides me over the uneven cobbles to the edge of the warm amber glow cast by a street lamp. Steadily, my eyes adjust to the light which brings with it a clarity to my sight. "That's better. Much better. Okay. I'll shut up now," she says, biting at her lower lip to help her maintain her promise. The silence lasts one second. "This isn't because I came all the way out here, is it?"

"Shush," I chide, unable to look anywhere but at her, our location now irrelevant. Up and down, from the way she stands in her high-heeled boots and thigh-hugging leggings, to her shirt and cardigan that hang off her slight body, to her collar bones that rise proud, just visible beneath the sheer fabric of her neck scarf. Her eyes shine with expectancy and her lips pout uncertainly. "This... this is the hardest thing I've ever done, Lea."

"Says the woman who has not only enacted giving birth, but dying too."

"Making it harder."

"Sorry. Nervous habit."

My whole body seems to ache, enervated by dread. I'm in a bell jar, air fast depleting, seconds counting down to my untimely fate. Lea presses her thumbs firmly against my palms; it invigorates me and bestows me with morsel of courage. "There are so many words, but none of them can fully express how I feel about you. Not really. Not properly." I struggle on, despite my throat closing. "Yes, I had a crush on you. At first it was simple and sweet and nothing else. Then... then it developed into this all-consuming, gigantic love." My hands still in hers, she tries to pull me closer, but I remain where I am. "You said I should have been mad at you for taking advantage of the situation in some of our scenes." She visibly bites her tongue, showing me how desperate she is to speak. I feel awful about this. "But, Lea, you weren't the only one who couldn't differentiate between acting and reality."

"Dianna." She steps forward keenly, but I step back into the half light and almost keel over on a dip. I'd have fallen if she weren't supporting me.

"Wait," I say, and she does. "I wish I could say that we'd both been in love for the same length of time."

She takes a deep breath and then exhales in tiny gasps, looking at me with confusion. I don't think she was quite prepared for this torrent of words. "You..." she begins.

"But I'm sorry to tell you that it's me you should be intensely mad at, because... because I took advantage of you long before you even started to see me differently." I shake my head with dismay as Lea trembles, tears forming in her shocked eyes. "Every time we kissed, I died a little."

"Every time?" she asks, sweetly tugging at my arms, encouraging me to return and bathe in the streetlight's warmth.

"_Every _time." I sniff solemnly and lick my lips.

Her eyes dart. "But... you wouldn't kiss me that night. That night when we were alone and I was so desperate to have you close after I broke up with Theo. I wanted you so much!"

I take in what she's saying. "You were distraught! I couldn't take the risk. It would have torn me to pieces. I thought I was a stepping stone on your way to someone else or back to him."

"No!" she says, exasperated. "I left him because I was head over heels for you!" Lea releases one of my hands and presses at her temple. She left him hoping to win me. Oh God. I never thought of it quite like that. I'm rendered senseless with exhilaration. The emptiness inside is aflame and absorbing every bit of oxygen available. "I don't get it, Di. You knew I'd fallen for you. You said you did. In the bar. Yeah?" she prompts, nodding urgently.

The lie that bites. "I'm sorry," I whimper between short breaths. "There are no excuses for what I said. I misled you because I thought it would make you feel better about your admission, and I was embarrassed that I hadn't seen it in you sooner." I sigh unevenly. "All this still doesn't even seem possible."

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't," she intones seriously.

"For all those times when I abused the situation and claimed our scripted kisses for myself, I am truly sorry." I pull my shoulders back and prepare for a sharp set of arrows to impale my chest. "I'm ready for you to get angry and call me names, like you said I should do to you."

"Why on earth would you assume that I would think badly of you for _that_? Right now I'm just insanely jealous of the me back then."

"But you said -"

"You're the exception, Dianna!" she yelps.

My throat gives out a sob as I blink away a teardrop. "Really?"

"Of course!" Her expression is so honest and open. "You're the exception for every rule! How could you think I'd reject you? This is... I'm just so... just so overwhelmed, and happy and... and my head hurts. Why didn't you tell me before?" Her fingers crush mine; not painfully, just demandingly.

"I'm not like you; I don't always know exactly what I want. I treasured the love I have for you, but I never knew what to do with it: just kept it in a box, looked at it once in a while, and mourned its sad existence." A gust of wind blows her delicious scent my way and heat prickles the back of my neck. "When you reciprocated unwittingly, it _completely _threw me." I don't want any blame to lie on her shoulders, but to omit is to lie. "I did try to tell you, you know. Sometimes outright, sometimes in my own way, but you always had a comeback."

She stares at the ground between us and thinks about this, then looks back up at me, catching my eye. "That must have been pretty devastating for you. I'm sorry I didn't listen." Far in the distance, cathedral bells chime and wake a few chirruping birds. "You're the kind of girl who loves people as soon as you meet them. I thought I was was just one of the crowd."

"Never in my eyes," I assure.

Lea holds onto the side of her neck and her shoulders drop. "Do you really love me... that way?"

It feels so extraordinarily wonderful to finally have my words accepted. I've been handed the world on a plate and I want to share it with everyone. I am giddy and near to fainting. "Every way, but most importantly: that way." I smile widely.

"You're gonna have to stop talking like that, or I'm gonna be a real mess." She laughs and wipes beneath her eye, her chin crumpling as she holds back the tide of emotion. "What now? Do I get a date?"

"Everything I have and everything I am is yours for the taking." I joggle the hand that I still have in my grasp. "If you want it."

"I just asked for a date, but sure, I'll have it all." Neither of us knows how to approach the other. All I can do right now is stand and look at her in awe. Is this really happening? We don't know where to go from here. "Look, uh, you've got your band to see and I've got a lot to take in," she says with quiet care. "I'm sure you'll need some time and I don't want to scare you away by coming on strong. Can I go to your hotel room and maybe borrow some clothes? I got Pepsi on my sleeve and I feel tired and airplane-y."

"Oh, oh. Yes." I drop my bag to the floor and begin rooting around. Standing, I tell her where I'm staying and hand over my bank card. "There's an ATM and a place you can get a taxi around the corner. Get whatever you need and bill the room for whatever you want when you're there. I'll call ahead and tell them you'll be arriving."

Clicking my pen, I grab her right hand and write my PIN on the back. As I do so, something catches my notice and I completely miss what she's saying. Can it be? Yes. That once-sketched heart is now a forever-inked outline on the proximal phalanx of her finger. My lower lip wobbles and I can't restrain the rush of burgeoning tears anymore.

"Dianna. What's wrong?" she asks, sweetly combing her fingers through my hair. "I didn't mean to upset you by making asinine comments. Nervous trait, remember."

Holding her fist close to my chest I rub my thumb back and forth over the shape. "When did you have this done?" Every time it had washed away, she'd asked me to draw it back on again. For luck. Until she stopped asking and I thought she must have begun asking someone else to draw it for her.

She looks down. "Oh. That? I found a parlor after one of our performances."

"Why?" I ask, carelessly tossing the pen into my bag.

Her cheeks twitch a smile onto her lips. "When Dianna Agron gives you her heart, you get that fucker tattooed on."

"Oh Lea," ebbs from my throat. "Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, but in the best way. That's how it is with you and me, isn't it? All pleasurable pain," she says perceptively, as she touches my cheek to catch another tear.

My line of sight drifts to her lips. I can't take this distance. It has been way too long. That divide still exists between us. It is powerful and oppressive. I look her in the eye. We've been here before. So many times now but this time we are without direction. No call of 'Action!' will come. There is nothing fictional about this. It's all too real. Only I can shatter the barrier.

Stepping in and reaching up, I take her face in both hands and draw her near. She takes a sharp breath. The tips of our noses bump intentionally, nudging from one side to the other. Her magnificent eyes sparkle with vehement desire. She. Loves. Me.

I hear her drop her purse to the floor and the contents scatter. She doesn't care. Her hands grab at my waist and rise to my shoulders. I want to kiss her, but the hesitation feels incredible. Draw close. Draw away. An almost. Another almost. My eyelashes flutter from sensations caused by the tumult in my chest and the bedlam in my stomach. I could stay like this forever. Forever in this wonderland of almost sublime kisses. But I can't, because I don't want to.

I press my mouth to hers and she moans. The sound kicks and cuddles me as I feel nothing but the incomparable rewards of tingles and shivers. I breathe her in, luxuriating in the smoothness of her lips as I fall deeper. There has never been a feeling so perfect. We've kissed so many times before, but it feels completely brand new. My fingertips dance over her ears as I seek to drive my hands through her hair and place pressure against the back of her head. I would never wish us apart.

Meanwhile, her hands have moved to my chest; they pull tantalizingly at the fabric of my high-neck dress. My knees are weakened by this, but I manage to walk us backward into the darkness and turn her so that she is up against the wall and I am propped up against her. She moves to kiss my cheek and neck, but I feel a dampness and I realize she's crying. My thumbs pressed to her chin, I pull back a little.

Light glints in her eyes. "You really do want me, don't you?" she asks rhetorically. I lean in again, as happy tears stream down our cheeks. It's all too much. We have both been confused for so long. A storm of emotions is played out with kisses. Frantic, sweet, heated, reverent, desperate. Between mutual sobs of joy, I press away the distance between us as she battles her tongue against mine. I feel as though I'm floating and sinking all at once.

She grants me a moment's pause for breath. Reaching up, she runs her fingertips over my lips as I pant. Eyelashes fluttering, she gives me a single delicate kiss. "I think we need to calm down before we do something we regret."

"The only things I regret are the things I don't do with you."

A smile. "My head is still, y'know..."

I'll be kind and put it bluntly on her behalf. "Fucked?" I mouth.

"Yes," she replies, not used to me cursing unless I'm in dire straits.

I knock my forehead against hers and my hair falls against her cheeks. My lungs need the rest. "Yeah."

Kissing her way up my jaw line, she whispers in my ear: "I'm gonna go get ready for that date while these crazy palpitations stop. You have your night here, and you come find me when you're ready. We've still got a lot to talk about, okay?" She says these things, and yet her hands have moved to my sides and have begun to roam.

I take a second because I don't want her to stop just yet. "Okay," I echo back to her hotly and she giggles cutely at the tickle. Stepping back, I look at our bags strewn on the ground. I am a mess with a raging pulse and even crouching to pick up her things proves difficult. I just want to lie down and take in the stars.

More ragged breaths escape Lea's throat as she composes herself. "So are you gonna explain why you've written my birthdate on the back of my hand? Did you wanna write my full name in case I get lost and found by a gendarme or whatever they're called?"

"Mm?" We stand, positions opposed, much as we were earlier. Almost as if we hadn't been pushed to the brink and dragged back again, though Lea is looking slightly bedraggled. "No, I wrote my PIN number for the AT... ah. Ahem. Yeah." I scratch my head and blush.

Realization. "Am I all your passwords too?" Lea, the love of my life, asks.

"Not _all_," I remark timidly, drawing a circle on her forearm with my fingertip, unable to let go.

"Whipped much?" she says with a wink.

"Oh completely." But I think she knows I don't mind that at all.


	27. The Little Death

_(Translated from the French) "How many things have been denied one day, only to become realities the next?"_ — Jules Verne - 'From the Earth to the Moon'

Letting time slip away, I allow my past to freely crumble into the infinite oblivion that collapses behind me with every certain step I take. No longer am I desperate, as once I sincerely was, to stop and return a glance over the edge of the precipice; to thrive on the heart-pounding notion of falling. Why? Because I am already caught. The almighty rush created by Lea's keen embrace is far greater and vastly more rewarding than anything I _ever_ found in fear and longing.

Without hesitation, I stride purposefully along the quiet street, my lungs fit to bursting with jubilant bubbles of joy. Tonight every question ever asked seems to have been granted an unequivocal answer; bestowed upon me, not in words, but in the silent touch of Lea's lips to mine. The impossible found a way. She found a way. She found me. And now, eager for my destination, I skip merrily across the road and watch my own shadow drift smoothly around my feet. I'm absolutely —

A harsh gasp-cum-choke tears from my throat. "Oh _God_." Grabbing hold of my left arm, I hug myself in fright, adrenaline rushing. What can I say? A little too much reverie almost had me clipped by a moped. I didn't... I didn't notice it coming. Silly. A little shaken and blinking, I make my way to the curb and watch the oblivious vehicle burble noisily away. Lesson learned. Focus drawn back to reality. I must pull my head out of the clouds a little; just enough to get me to Lea in one piece. I guess looking over my shoulder sometimes has its benefits

And yet, even despite the lingering, brutish clang of my shocked heartbeat, I feel invincible. Maybe even more so than before. I take a shallow breath of dust-laden air that inspires images of Paris' rich, dark history, and a stimulating chill runs down my spine. Bidding good evening to a scruffy-looking, snub-faced cat as it rubs the crown of its head against a railing, I step up to the sidewalk. I have never been more terrified of what is to come with Lea, and never more content. So much has changed.

My happiness resides with her; I see that now. I am the exception to every one of her rules. Do you know how that feels? How _high_? How _strong_? Running my hands through my hair, I stamp my shoes on the ground in quick succession and squeal excitedly. My heart has been unlocked. My soul replenished. My world created anew. So, yes, I left the club halfway through the show, barely lasting out forty minutes. Of course that happened! What was I thinking before? Heaven only knows how I ever thought that I could listen to music when one set of sounds alone can satiate my auricular needs.

Full of wonder and still addled by every single kiss on that gradient scale of tentative to heavy, I weave my way down the street as if tipsy on air alone. I must seem crazy to anyone who sees me, but I don't care. Free as a bird, I laugh at myself because I can't help but repeatedly envisage scenes from old musicals. It's all I can do not to break into dance, but — for fear of being arrested or, worse, caught on camera — I shan't. Not this night.

Moving hastily from elaborate street lamp to street lamp (and resisting swinging around each one), I daydream about Lea. What is she doing this very moment? Napping? Trying on my clothes? Not that we're new to _that_ particular game. But now? Now it all feels so different. She might casually slip on one of my dresses, catch a hint of my perfume and smooth her hands over her hips, firm in the knowledge that I wish to touch the skin beneath the fabric.

The distinct chalky line of friendship has been well and truly crossed; all blown, kicked and irreversibly scuffed away. And, despite all the uncertainty that persists, I feel so much safer on this side. Hell, I don't even know how I got here. My own frayed logic and intrepid stupidity once clung together in self-protection, but they also rendered me inert. And so, yes, it was Lea's actions that somehow forced me out of the darkness, ultimately culminating in this night; this wonderful night in this amazing city. La Ville-Lumière truly living up to its name: enlightening my mind and brightening my outlook.

I send a grateful thanks to the skies for my parallel life. The one I wished for so many times. A cosmic blessing. I am staggered by everything that has happened. Can this be real? Oh! Suddenly, I am faced with very real, large black doors, crowned by elegant gold lettering. Auto-pilot has kindly brought me to my hotel, and quickly too. Did I run here and never realize it? As I tread towards the inviting amber glow, broad smile intact, I hear a familiar snap of a camera's shutter, but resist peering behind me. If I'd chosen bijou over decadent, I might have remained hidden from the paparazzi. Shoot.

No matter. Tonight I am a woman of purpose and shall therefore pay them no attention. See? Watch me trot indoors carefree, as light and happy as a cloud on a warm summer's evening. Heading over to the reception, the soles of my flats pat satisfyingly against the foyer floor and I feel as though I could tap dance. Glancing at the clock I realize I'm still way too early; I promised her an hour and a half or more. My elevated heart dips a little. She wanted time to take it all in. I'm cruel if I rush her. Should I go for another wander?

Taking a second, I regard the other patrons and attempt to discern their reasons for being here. Business. Pleasure. Love. Sex. Solitude. Yesterday, I held plans of befriending them all and discovering their desires and secrets, be them good, bad or ugly. Right now I imagine I'd have one single subject on my lips, and that selfsame subject is the only person I suspect might find me good company. Very good company I sincerely hope, though it seems strange to be thinking it.

A certain solemnity washes over me. Apprehension sets in and my steps become cautious. My prior impatience had been overriding nerves so now, here, mere minutes away from the person I wish to be close to, I find myself vulnerable and sapped of confidence. I've interpreted Lea's reactions incorrectly before and am inexperienced in the world of romancing someone like her. What does she need? What should I provide? Will I fit the bill? After all, it was she who stopped our kisses and requested a time out. How fast should I go?

The male concierge looks at me with curiosity and smiles sweetly as I bump up to the desk. I need to waste a little time and so request a quiet place to sit and order a small framboise eau-de-vie. A pro, he shows not even a flash of bemusement at my request and obligingly gives me entrance to a glorious, gold-resplendent function room. A waiter with tray swiftly follows and before long I am once again alone with my thoughts. Childlike, I take advantage of the vast space and make two lazy circuits of the room, dragging my hand gently over the textured wallpaper as I go. On the third, I half-gallop half-skip, but it only exacerbates the excited, nervous tension presently gripping my muscles.

Collapsing onto a piano seat, I flip back the luxurious cloth draped over the glossy grand. Don't touch, I think, so I do anyway. I like a little childish rebellion this evening. Lid raised carefully, my fingertips slide down the underside and land on the keys. I find myself slowly pressing out a simple version of the first Beatles song that springs to mind. A delicate, invigorating vibration hums through my arms as the piano hammers fall. This is the life I have waited and prayed for. I want Lea. I want her so bad it's driving me mad. I always have.

My throat swells with emotion as I take in the crystal lights overhead; sparkling majestically, they further shine and blur as tears form in my eyes. Such little distance. Mere floors above my love awaits. If I'm the exception to every rule, surely I'd be permitted to disturb her early, wouldn't I?

Wouldn't I?

* * *

_"To love means to open ourselves to the negative as well as the positive ― to grief, sorrow, and disappointment as well as to joy, fulfillment, and an intensity of consciousness we did not know was possible before."_ ― Rollo May

I suppose that, should I want it, I could have the best night's sleep. The first in what feels like forever. I don't want it. I've so little interest in rest that I find myself stifling even a blink: there is simply too much I might miss. So much has slipped me by. This moment is already a dream; I've no need to close my eyes to experience such wonders.

Staring at the door to my hotel room, I wonder if it would be acceptable to walk right in. I mean, could I? To imagine doing so, and to envisage Lea looking at me with those dark, lambent eyes as she draws near makes the pain of happiness tug and twist sharply beneath my rib cage. So... might I? My thumb repeatedly rubs circles over the engraved numbers on the fob, which taps against my thigh and sets the brass key swinging. Okay. Ready. In it goes... back into my pocket. Or, so it seems, straight to the floor. Klutzy.

Trembling, I crouch to scoop it up, but down I remain. Sliding onto my knees, my gaze is drawn to the puzzle created by the patterned floor; a symmetrical cascade of fibers guiding my attention this way and that. Everything about this new world is so vivid; I can feel this day imprinting itself on my mind forever. Every ridiculous detail recorded. I want to remember it all. In the calm silence, I hear the faint ticking of my watch as it counts out the seconds that waste away. I hope she will understand why I couldn't wait.

Unexpectedly, the door swings wide on its hinges and I shyly catch sight of Lea's slender ankles. My arrested heart clangs again; not with shock as before, but an overwhelming wash of realization: I'm here at last. "You're not what I ordered, but I guess you'll do," she teases, looking down at me and tousling her hair as she stands bare foot, wearing my knee-length, dark-blue skirt — rolled at the hips so it doesn't hang quite so long — and my loose-fit, low-cut, striped shirt. No need for accessories, unless you count that smile of pure, dazzling brilliance. Mine. All mine. Definitely a life changer. Indubitably.

Trepidation affecting my movement, I awkwardly get to my feet and grab for the wall. I can't look away from her, my heart swelling to its limit, but I don't know how to approach. Earlier this evening we were as close as any two people could be, but that was the heat of the moment. This is all new. She reaches out, cups her hand under mine and rubs her thumb over my palm just as she had done barely an hour ago. Fear must be showing in my expression. And yet, I see something in her eyes too: a delicious uncertainty.

Pulled like prey into a predator's den, I am shunted forward and the door is closed behind me. I stand bewildered, my eyes adjusting to the comparatively dim light as she unsurely drifts away from me. Taking a moment to recover my sensibilities, I concentrate on the sensation in my hand that hangs heavily by my side, still tingling from the pressure of her touch. "Swanky hotel," she comments enthusiastically while rooting around in the armoire for more clothes to try on.

Neither of us knows the steps to this new dance. Together, we shall learn. Looking around, I find her mark has been made in a few minor ways. Three soft-light lamps switched on. Balcony door ajar. Charger heaved out of my suitcase and plugged into her phone. Hairdryer out of the drawer. Cardigan placed to one side, alongside her scarf, leggings and boots. A slight depression and wrinkling of the bed covers. This is no longer my room; it's ours. "It's the cat's pajamas, isn't it?" I say meekly.

"More like the cat's whole closet of clothes." She laughs in that way I adore. "I feel like Vivian Ward."

Does that make me Edward? "Sorry I'm early," I apologize formally and without forethought, unavoidably playing out Pretty Woman scenarios in my mind.

Eyes twinkling devilishly, she jokes: "I'll just assume you we're tryin' to catch me naked." Immediately, she bites at her lip and her eyes dart. Was she about to giggle? That, or the dialog wasn't meant for my ears and she's suddenly regretting her beautiful bluntness.

It's perfectly all right: I'll play. "I hate to disappoint, but I've already seen you naked." My stomach clenches ever tighter as the words trip off my tongue. My heart bangs with nerves and blood courses in my ears.

"Nuh uh," she responds. Pulling on a blazer, she pushes her arm through the sleeve and out pops her hand with an index finger waggling at me. "Not completely." One brief, disgruntled look in a mirror and she immediately removes the top layer, returning it to its hanger.

Not completely? Is she thinking only about the tours, fast changes and 'oops' moments? Shuffling off my thin coat and tossing my bag to one side, I can feel my fortitude grow like an oxygen-fed flame. "Yes, I have!"

"Yeah, right," comes her doubtful reply. Flopping down on one end of an intricately-embroidered chaise longue, she checks over and then slips into a pair of my highest heels. I can't even remember packing those. Look complete for now, she leans back, arms supporting her upper body, palms flat against the seat. The word that springs instantly to mind is: straddle. Lea, quietly waiting for my retaliation, notices me reverently eyeing her hips and so purposefully clears her throat and quirks an eyebrow at me. I'm now encountering an altogether different kind of caught: caught out. "Okay, when was that?" she asks with a stumble, evidently equally as uneasy as myself.

I chuckle loudly to compensate for making her feel uncomfortable. Though... am I even making her feel so? Perhaps she's just adjusting to seeing me in this new light? "I've seen you naked a few times," I admit softly. Am I boasting now? No, I don't think so. Nudity is beauty. Nothing to gloat about or be ashamed of. "We did live together!" And Lea isn't exactly the most bashful of people.

Sitting primly, she crosses her legs. "Oh, well, you weren't in love with me _then_," she dismisses with a... serious, yes, definitely serious tone to her voice. And so the subject has been broached again. Better sooner rather than later.

Love. I want to tell her everything. I'm not afraid as once I was. "I was falling for you, though," I concede with a shrug and a pout. "I really need you to realize quite how long this has been going on, or I won't be sure that you're okay with how things were." I go to sit to her right, being careful to leave a good handspan between us. "How they are."

With mild exasperation, she pokes me playfully in the shoulder. "I'm fine. Will you stop worrying? Jeez. You know I don't care about the past. I mean I care, but you're not gonna change my mind about anything!" She holds my gaze. I find myself momentarily lost for words.

"There was..." I take a quick breath. "There was one other time I saw you with no clothes on," I finally say with a slight hoarseness to my voice.

"Come on, then. When did you take a peek, naughty lady?" She smirks and I can't help but do the same.

It does seem to be a very odd thing to be discussing so soon after declarations of love, and yet a little flirtatious badinage seems to calm us both. Is it because there are finally no boundaries, nothing to hinder untouched subjects from springing forth? Maybe. I am laid bare before her in so many ways. "It was sometime after we sep... when we weren't living together anymore. Do you remember?" Pushing out her bottom lip, she shakes her head. "You were crazy drunk," I add. "And I... you invited me into your bed."

"I did?" Perplexed, she looks away from me and up towards the top of the balcony doors. "Was it in a, y'know, in _that_ way?"

That really wasn't how I expected her to respond. "Friend way," I assure. "I mean, that's right, isn't it? You didn't see me that way back then." That _was_ what she said, wasn't it?

She shakes her head, but, strangely — and the defensive, ascending mew from her throat confirms this — it's not to indicate a negative. "Like I said before: I've always found you attractive, Dianna. You're the most beautiful person on this whole fucking planet. And being crazy drunk makes you, y'know, do crazy things so..." She hunches her shoulders briefly and looks down at the floor. That's it. That's all. Such an easy statement for her.

"Oh." Earlier I was thinking about the many points of serendipity that must have aligned to connect our paths, and about how we might have missed each other completely, but now I wonder if we were always meant to be. Did all roads lead to Lea?

"So... what did we do?" she asks.

I don't understand. "Do?"

"In bed. What did we do in bed?" she asks with a frown.

My chest sinks with acute regret; not for the question asked, but for past choices made. "I didn't go to bed with you, Lea." Has every single one of my decisions been one step to the left of normal? Have I always been waiting silently in the wings, expecting her to make the ultimate move and the greatest gesture like she did tonight? So many roads not taken. "I got you into the bedroom," I explain slowly, "helped you off with your dress, then you flung —"

"I love that feeling," she reveals, smiling innocently with eyes closed, and the barest indication of warmth appearing on her cheeks.

"When someone —"

"When _you_," she corrects adamantly.

I swallow reflexively, my throat bobbing. "When I...? Really?" She loves the feeling when _I_ help her undress. The biggest grin appears on my lips. I bite at the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from laughing or weeping.

The barest of coughs slips from her throat and I sense that important matters are about to resume. "Dianna, before things get... before we get any further. Are you dating or seeing anyone? I need to know. It's gonna affect things if you're, like..."

No! "I'm not. Flat out no. I promise. No one."

Lea's head tips back in relief as she lets out a sibilant sigh. "Thank God," she whispers, hand on throat. "I was really scared that you'd have someone right now."

Exhilaration caused by the magnitude of this situation reaches a peak. All of this matters greatly to her and, at last, I am able to show her how much she truly means to me. "Only you, Lea." Counterbalancing the rush of pure love comes a glut of choking anxiety. I never thought I would be so happy to be in a position of having so much to lose. I consider our side-by-side position and how physically pleasant it is. There is no place I'd rather be, but the psychological distance is tortuous. There is still so much to learn, but it is an education I invite wholeheartedly.

Lea's cheeks draw up tightly and she squints cutely. "I'm glad. I really am."

Shifting towards her, just an inch or so, I lift her right arm by the elbow and slide my fingertips along the length of her forearm. Turning her hand upward, I raise it and lean in to delicately graze my bottom lip across the tattoo on the underside of her wrist before planting a long, wistful kiss against the heel of her palm. She shivers, but happily, I believe. "You're the only one I want," I say softly. When I release her she holds the position, her thumb brushing my cheek and her fingers tickling at the hair that sweeps across my eyes.

The arm falls between us, hand flat on the seat as she twists around a little and reaches over to pull at my knees and angle me towards her. Every second, that bit closer. Sensation radiates down my neck and spine, stealing my breath as I feel an ever so slight, tender kiss to my ear. "Tell me a story," she requests in a wet whisper, making my eyelashes flutter as she pushes her fingers between mine and pulls my right hand onto her lap. I shudder internally at the sheer proximity of her body to mine. Is this definitely real? I'm liable to faint or explode from all the butterfly and dragon wings currently fighting for freedom inside my stomach, that much is true.

I'm pretty good at self-control, so I'll use that to the best of my ability. All. I told myself I would tell her it all. And with no pre-composed letters to prompt or aid me, I'm finding that I'll need to ad-lib all those conversations that I had once scripted in my head and rehearsed so well. All my words stolen, I don't know how to start. Her request keeps bouncing around my head. Raconte-moi une histoire. Une histoire. "It was a long time ago," I begin, not looking at her directly, but instead at her pretty, exposed knees, "but do you remember that time we were all squeezed into Jenna's trailer and took turns at guessing each other's favorite songs to make love to?"

Lea is taken aback by my bringing up sex so directly and, though she attempts to hide it, her chest rises with a surprised inhalation. "Mm," she forces out as the tip of her tongue slides over her bottom lip. "You're putting it politely, but yeah. Yep." Continuously, I am distracted by the desire to lean in and kiss her, but these moments of increasing tension between us inspire me not to. The tickle of prickling heat at the back of my neck serves to remind me that, although I highly crave her contented whimpers of satisfaction, I must tell her everything she deserves to hear and find my reward in the reactions played out by her emotive eyes.

"I've been thinking lately about the beginning; about when it all changed for me." I look across at our interlinked fingers as she squeezes encouragingly. "And, looking through an old journal, I came across that particular day: all played out, word for word. Quite candid. Not that I needed the reminder, because I can recall it in... in glorious..." I'm lost for a moment in the bright, vivid fragments of those minutes that changed my life.

"Technicolor?" she suggests sweetly.

"Yeah," I agree, drifting back into the present.

"Okay." Lea rolls her eyes. "So what you're saying is you've got it in writing that I made an ass of myself with that dumb suggestion for you. Right?" With a sneer, she adds: "I mean what was it I said? Radiohead or something. Nude? That song's not, like, even about sex. Is it?" She seems so disappointed in herself. Is it mean that I find her self-deprecation endearing? "I remember how embarrassed you were," she adds. "I'm such an idiot. I should have said something dumb or funny like everyone else did. I blew it."

"You blew my mind," I manage to say, my voice strained, grateful tears rising once again.

"I was right?" she asks, astonished.

"Yes." Actually. "No. Well. I don't know!" My limbs are becoming numb from sitting so still, but warmed through from this rousing memory: the memory of the first time I saw Lea both as a friend I adored and as a sexual being with whom I intensely craved a loving intimacy. It sparked something huge. It sparked this. "There was no right answer, but when you suggested that song — my favorite song — I could hear the music playing in my head. I saw you in my mind's eye. I kissed you deeply in my imagination. All I wanted was to take you under the covers and make... make you happy."

Too much? Lea seems frozen, her body stiff and expression that of pure disbelief. She swallows dryly and her thick lashes flutter as if she had just wandered into a dense cloud of suffocatingly hot air. "Dianna. I don't know what to say." Her right hand slips behind my back and my mind begs for an instant surrender: 'Give in,' it demands, 'collapse into her arms,' it conspires urgently, but I can't let that happen.

My body is no longer my own; any and all stimulus comes solely from Lea. My life source. My energy supply. If she lets go, I'll fade away. I blink rapidly and my jaw clenches. "It just felt so _right_," I avow, closing my eyes for a moment to simply inhale and smile. "Finally comprehending what you meant to me threw my whole life into perspective, and everything made a little more sense. Even though you were unreachable — a fantasy — it taught me _so_ much about loving without expectation, and, for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Lea's brow knits as she shakes her head and her breathing becomes a little frantic. "I feel so bad that I didn't help you get through it. I mean, shit, I got Ryan to get our characters together for fuck's sake. How did you... how did it not drive you insane? Jesus, I don't even know what I was thinking. I wanted... I just wanted to..." Pulling at my waist, she tugs me around even more so that she can look at me properly, her line of sight repeatedly dropping to my mouth.

Her hands move up to roam over my capped sleeves then my shoulders, her thumbs beginning to gently massage the sides of my neck as she looks me up, down and over with distress in her darting eyes. I empathize with her current state. It's her turn to consider the past and dwell unnecessarily on decisions once made. All part of the healing process. "It's okay," I say soothingly, my stomach performing a drop and roll as she moves down and squeezes vigorously at my upper arms as if testing my muscle strength.

"I almost didn't go to see him that day," she reveals. "Did you know that? I really almost didn't. It could all have been different. I might never have fully understood my feelings for you," she says, clearly quite panicked by the thought.

We may have always been destined to be together, but perhaps it did all rest on one day, one tiny choice in Lea's life. Would I ever have made the leap on my own? "It's okay," I repeat, and I believe it; because we're here and we're together. It has happened and it doesn't do well to dwell on what might never have been. If anyone should know that, I should.

"I can't remember a time when I haven't wanted you close," Lea semi-blurts, now lost in her own confused world, glancing around the room for answers and still attempting to cling onto what she understood to be true. "Like super, super close. And back then you'd gotten so distant, I thought I was gonna lose you completely, so I took drastic action and finagled a love story for us. Of all things I could have done... I did that!"

And in so many ways, I'm lucky that she did. With my pulse jumping and rattling like a train derailed, I lean forward a touch. Then a little more. I slink my arms around her middle and pull her to me. My cheek slides past hers and I feel her nose nuzzle at my ear. Ratcheting respiration causes her chest to repeatedly billow against mine. I can't help but hug her tighter and tighter still until we breathe evenly as one. Clutching firmly at her back, my hands tangling in her long, luscious hair, I squeeze shut my eyes and realize that 'all' should have started with one important statement. "I love you _so_ much."

I feel her chin press down hard on my shoulder as she holds on for dear life. "Thank you," she says through a choked-up sniff.

And now for more truths, more outpouring of guilt. "I let you down so often. Held you at arm's length and shut you out." I bite my lip in dismay. "But I promise you, I did that because it was just too hard to be near you; too hard because, for me, close was never close enough." Not even this is close enough.

She nods, taking it all in. The action causes her ear to brush lightly against mine. "I can't pretend the rejection didn't hurt." The nodding ceases, and a slow, delicious caress continues in its place. "But I can see how hard it was for you." Her hands slide up and down my spine and I'm caught up in a storm of tingles. "Do you forgive me for all my jealousy?" comes a question I wasn't expecting.

"You were jealous?" I'm not shocked. I'm... I'm pleased. Never in all my days had I imagined that a quality I discourage so rigorously in myself would instantly become one I am shamefully excited by in Lea. I recall the times in the past that she belittled my boyfriends in the name of humor and all those moments she attempted to discourage me from seeing them in favor of spending time with her. "I thought you didn't like my taste in men."

She shrinks away from me, turning to face back toward the balcony and watch the bank of moonlit flowers swaying in the delicate breeze. I can already feel my life force ebbing away. Sidling back up beside her, I keep my hip wedged against hers to keep our connection strong and retain the reality of this night. "Jealous of the guys, jealous of the girls," she murmurs, looking distinctly embarrassed, playing with her hands and examining her neat little painted nails. "And that's not like me, y'know? I don't _do_ that! I wanted you all to myself. That surprised me. I found... I find the idea of other people —" she winces, her tongue visibly running from incisor to incisor as she takes a jittery breath "— being with you _really_ hard."

"I regret every one of them," I say with sincerity.

"No! Don't," comes an outburst along with an admonishing snap of her fingers. "I wasn't alone; why should you have been? Never think that way. Don't ever, okay? That's _my_ thing that I have to live with, not yours." Her bottom lip wavers. "You've always been so special to me. I've always wanted to be special to you."

"You are. You are," I declare, unconditionally. "You always were. I wanted the same. Perhaps too much."

Rubbing lightly at the bridge of her nose, she sighs. "I want you to know that, to me, you have _never_ been an afterthought; in fact, you've pretty much always been my _first_ thought. You still are. At first, I passed it off as... I dunno, admiration... or something. I pretended that that's what really close girlfriends are like, but deep, deep down I knew there was more to it. I kept saying: 'She's just a friend. Just a friend.' But I was lying to myself. I wanted you by my side all the time, like, _all_ the time." She shakes her head wistfully. "What I'm trying to say is that the strength of that used to scare me; I'd brush it off and pretend to myself that it wasn't true because, well, I didn't want to suffocate you with it, and... and I didn't want it to change who I was."

"I don't think anyone or anything could stop you being you, Lea," I note pragmatically.

She laughs at herself and seems relieved. "I guess you're right."

Her eyes, though glazed with tears, shine peacefully. The brash, bold, self-confident woman has slipped completely away to reveal this lesser-seen side of Lea. To this extremely soft-centered girl, I simply say: "Hi."

"Hi," she replies, slowly smudging her pinkie finger under her eye to avoid mascara smears. I sense her shields are about to rise back up, but that's okay; I know she's there under it all. She, too, is a woman with a plan tonight. Yep, here she goes. Without permission, my watch is dragged roughly round my wrist and, as she concentrates on its face to read the time, my head fills with a static-like fuzz. "It's getting so late. Come on." Abruptly, she stands and quickly marches off toward an occasional table.

With all physical connections removed, I'm left feeling empty: a pulseless, wraithlike entity. I sit and await a new surge of vitality. Meanwhile, I calmly admire her movements: her legs strutting in those slighty-too-large shoes; how she effortlessly runs my brush through her hair; her nimble fingers typing out a short text; and her arm sliding through the handles of her purse as it swings onto her shoulder. Her body in motion is the most devastatingly beautiful thing. She indicates the now-open mini bar while taking a swig of Evian. "I'm good," I say, all the while thinking how I'd rather taste the water on her tongue and drink from her lips than opt for the banality of a bottle.

"Up," Lea demands hastily as if it were necessary to leave within the next minute. Regardless, I think I'll sit tight for a second longer. "Before you came back I made some calls; my card is working again," she assures, "so I can take you anywhere." Does her assertiveness conceal something unvoiced? "You don't need anything; I've got us covered." Was I subconsciously pushing her too quickly? Were even my subtle signals too much for her? I feel like we're running away from the elephant in the room: the bed; or, for that matter, the rug; the chair; the piano on the ground floor. "Do you need to go?" She's motioning toward the bathroom. I shake my head. "Okay, let's roll. I'll order a car through the concierge." A waving hand tries to herd me out.

Obediently, I get up and go to her side as she opens the door. Together we stand on the verge of leaving the comfort of our private place, where only self-created personal barriers might form. Out there: who knows what awaits. I'm thinking about the daunting possibility of that photographer still lingering hopefully by the entrance, about the eyes on us wherever we go, and the spectacle we become just by being ourselves. I won't be able to hold her. How much shall we have to hide in plain sight?

No. No. No. Come on. Silly. Ungrateful. Forget that. Bravery starts with a step, and wherever she may wish to go, I want nothing more than to go too. "You don't think I should change?" I ask, looking down at my cuddle-rucked linen dress and wondering if, despite the warmth of the night, I should at least grab my coat to cover up.

Large, adoring eyes look me up and down. "You could be wearing an old hooded sweatshirt, torn capri pants and dirty sneakers, and I'd still think you looked like a princess who needs to get taken to the ball. Besides, you always look perfect."

"Oh! Oh! What about your room service?" I ask, suddenly remembering a comment from earlier.

"I haven't ordered any." She frowns and tilts her head.

"I thought... never mind." I did genuinely think she had. Okay, I cant keep distracting and making excuses. Looks like she won't move until I do, so I'll be the first to egress. "Let's go," I say cheerily with an uncertain grin as I stride past. Now in the corridor, I swivel on my heel and extend my hand for her to take. "Shall we?" I will try to be good. She wants to go out. She wants to see the city with me by her side. I'm flattered by that. Thrilled. Yes. Definitely. I will find strength and patience from her sweet glancing looks. If I can hold her hand under the table, if I can knock my knee to hers, if I can look at her all night, it will be enough. It will be enough.

"Wait." She catches my eye, fidgeting, brushing her bangs to the side and twirling locks of her hair. "J-just one thing."

Lea leans out, checking left and right, then guides me by the upper arm to place me so that my back is aligned with the door frame: one foot in our cosy room, the other in the starkly-lit corridor. I stand silent and still as she looks me directly in the eyes. Gosh. There it is again: the tremendous, unworldly rush that momentarily stings my sinuses and blurs my sight. The closer she is, the more alive I feel; the more I brim with empowered, spiritual love. Those eyes... those eyes just kill me. Attempting to not seem too tantalized and invigorated, I manage — albeit losing a few vowels along the way — to say: "Yes, sweetheart?"

Her chin crumples and she looks pained. "I'm okay with taking things slow, but before we go out, please... please give me a kiss. I can't be happy out there knowing that I can't touch you. So please —" I find myself licking my lips when she swallows hard, her concerned expression turning suggestive "— just fucking kiss me?" she coaxes unabashedly. "Please?"

Her point-blank honesty stomps at my lower abdomen and kick starts an engine-like purr. "I..." Inside I'm smiling so hard that it hurts to not let it rise to the surface. "I would. I really would. But..." My throat closing up, I can barely speak as I slump back against the painted wood and mutter: "I can't."

Her lips roll inwardly. She winces, crestfallen and wary of my abstinence. "Why?"

It's so plain to me that I find it hard to comprehend how she could not understand my predicament. After all, it's the same problem I've encountered time and time again. It was hard enough to do it once tonight; to have to do it again would pull me apart. I know it's a failing, but there are only so many times a girl can die before she cannot be revived. The fault in my works. The unvarnished truth about my weakness. A long breath escapes my lungs as my shoulders shrug and my chest sinks. "Because if I did, Lea, I wouldn't be able to stop kissing you. Because if it were left up to me, we'd never leave this room, this hotel or this city. Because now there's no one yelling 'cut', I won't _want_ to let you go."

After a second of bemusement, Lea's eyes narrow and she shoots me a sultry, smoky look that twists my stomach and sets me aflutter. Scrutinizing my body language and musing over my reply, she pouts, indirectly causing the crease in her bottom lip to become more clearly defined. I stare at this desirously and, yes, she notices exactly what I'm concentrating on. I know she does because she advances swiftly, stepping in to grab at the fabric belt of my dress and pull me into the suite. "Get back in here," she says with ease. Can it be so simple?

Thoroughly twitterpated by this, I stumble through with my hand on my chest. Dizzyingly, my surroundings spin around me. I hear the door shut and the key shunt the mechanism of the lock. Her bag drops heavily onto a chair and she reappears into view. Stepping in close, she plunges her hands into my hair and draws me near. She smells so good. An intrigued smile slips across my mouth as her breath tickles my lips: a sensation that absolutely begs to be canceled out by the perfect pressure. In for the kill, her gorgeous lower lip nudges mine. A dare. An invitation. A starter pistol that sets my heart running. She is mine for the taking.

Her eyelashes lower steadily and mine blink shut a half second later. Perhaps cruelly, I do as she did to me: I repeat the invite. I can't help it; I need for her to make the decisive move, display to me the extent of her appetite, and set the bar so that I know her limits and expectations. Only then will... Oh. Ah. Her lips seal sweetly against my own and my senses, already heightened, ignite for the second time this evening. The delicate sound echoes in my ears and excites me to the core. I barely have time to miss her mouth before it happens again; this time in the form of a more vigorous clash that drives a beautiful stab of hot pain through my stomach. Yes. This. This is all a person might ever need. She continues to capture my mouth, causing wordless, breathy moans of agreement to slip from my throat one after the other.

Roused, energized and weak at the knees, I grab her waist and pull her to me so as to anchor us to the spot. How far will we go? How much should I drive for? Her lips part more and she deepens the kiss, stoking the wild fires within. So simple. So pure. So potent. These burning kisses feel as though they have always been fundamental to my existence; only now am I truly whole. But this is surely only the beginning, and I want to know more of her. Pushing and pulling clumsily at the hem of her shirt, I find a way under. Contact. At long last. Lea inhales sharply as my fingertips draw zig-zags on her skin. Her teeth graze across my bottom lip and my eyes flicker open.

I feel the need to check that she wants this. Taking advantage of this opportune moment, I slide my hands firmly over her lower back and sides to gauge her physical reaction by sight. My God, she is just so incredibly smooth. The pulse in my throat jumps as she tips her head back and arches her spine, hips pressing hard against me. Instinctively, my fingers run a fraction under the waistline of her skirt. At this, she takes in a rapid nasal breath, tugs at the nape of my neck and pulls us back together. The tip of her tongue brushes the underside of my top lip, causing a warm chill, if there is such a thing, to drill though my body to my extremities.

From here on in, everything is new territory. I have begun to tremble with anticipation and she notices the physical change. "Are you okay, baby?" she asks tentatively, breaking me so much I actually almost weep.

I nod. I realize that she too is shivering with nerves and, like me, want. Tenderly, I trace my lips over the indentation of an old faded scar on her forehead and breathe in the blissful scent of her hair. It calms me. "Are you?" I ask.

"Mm hm." Composing herself, she adds: "Yeah."

With added impetus, I trail my nose over her cheek and work my way back to consume her mouth eagerly. Impulsively, I lightly press my tongue to hers again and again to fully savor our connection while my hands drop to clutch firmly at her skirt. Lea gasps between kisses and curse words, then changes tack, nipping at my jaw and goading me towards another level of intimacy. I'm glad of it. So glad. It's all way too much for my body to handle, but all enticements are welcome with open arms. I want to feel it all. Assuredly, she grabs my right hand and returns it to her side, under her shirt. She is so impeccably soft, I can barely stand it. I will never, ever get over the way her skin feels.

Needing to familiarize myself with every inch of her, I begin with a simple upwards stroke, tracing over her ribs as I go. 1. 2. 3. Then down, over another tattoo. 2. 1. Up. 2. 3. 4. My thumb reaches the line of her fine lace bra. I pause, feeling the edge. Lea moves to whisper words of devotion against my cheek. Breathe. Take it slow or wanton abandon will take over and make a mess of the memories here created. Tremulously — as reverently as a bow might slide across the string of a violin — I move my palm against the side of her breast. At my ear, I hear an intake of breath through clenched teeth and soon my lips clash with hers once more. I desperately want to pull aside the lace, press firmly at the yielding flesh beneath and taste her skin. Conversely, I feel virginal again, nervous, completely naïve of sexual interactions and urges. Most especially in regard to Lea, with whom I have little to no empirical knowledge beyond my own predilections and a few in-character fumbles. I have never been so close to her before. Admittedly, almost this close, but certainly not alone, and definitely _never_ in the knowledge of this mutual craving.

I suck in my stomach as her arm pushes between us, her fist rolling at my navel. "I can't undo it," she mutters into my mouth after a few seconds of audible agitation. Oh. My belt. Twice I had re-tied the knot this morning. Twice. It hadn't looked right either time; I should have gone without. In an instant, the act of having got dressed at _all_ seems to have been a terrible, terrible idea. Lea's hands are now grappling firmly my backside and clutching at the fabric thereon while I struggle urgently with the belt myself, the action seeming one hundred times harder than it should, even with these mildly shaking hands. Damn it. How can it be so complex? I'm locked in. Kept chaste; in deed, if not in thought.

I further lose my lucidity and capability when Lea begins to sigh seductively against my neck, her hands once again at my waist, helping as I finally ease the knot loose. Working in unison, we unravel and slide the belt away from my middle. Triumphantly, she rips it away and it snaps like a whip before falling to the floor. Our combined relief is virtually palpable. Lea — seeming as though she had been permitted through some sort of magical gateway — immediately runs her hands up my sides and across the slight curves of my chest, over which lies just this single layer of fabric. I can't... I can't even describe the almost unendurable satisfaction that has taken over my body and rendered it a mass of tingles and goosebumps. I'm not sure how I will cope with more, but I want to find out. Her hands slip under my arms, then up to search around by the base of my neck, thumbing at the label. Quickly, she realizes that the zip is actually at the side and, finding the slider, yanks it down.

This is not the easiest of dresses to remove at the best of times, but the heat prickling my skin is happy for every second that the hem rises higher. I leave it to Lea, her hands dancing against my thighs as she shuffles the fabric up my hips, then over my stomach and rib cage. The dress bulks up at my chin for just a second before being hastily cast away. She looks at me kindly, then lustily, as I shake my head and ruffle my hands through my disheveled hair. I'm free to be vulnerable because I trust she will take care of me. Nevertheless, so quickly exposed, I find that I want to hide. Standing with next to nothing on while she is still so well clothed seems imbalanced. We both may have shown all our cards, but so far this game of strip poker is playing to her benefit more than my own. I distract her from my almost complete nudity by leaning in to bite carefully at her bottom lip and make her eyes close as I push her shirt up as far as it will go and wait for her to lift her arms. We part, as over her head it goes.

No time to be lost, she plunges back toward me, hands in my hair, thumbs massaging my temples. I feel her smile against my lips, her nose stroking mine sensually. I didn't get a clear look at her before and so, all too tempted, I draw back to see her in her semi-nude glory. I can't not. The amber glow from the lamp in the far corner glances off her shoulders and casts her collar bones in shadow. Oblivious to my need to just stand and stare at her beauty, she dives into the crook of my neck, this time entirely unhindered and... and I let out a series of ragged, uncontrollable breaths. Keeping an unsteady lid on my base, carnal desires, I tenderly, if ineptly, unclasp her bra. The straps fall easily and it is gone before I care to tell where. Left behind are the faintest of lines on her skin, barely visible. I run my fingertips over the imprint and take in every sublime curve. I never thought this day would come. More wonderful than I —

"That tickles!" she titters against my jaw.

Okay, _too_ gentle. To compensate, I rub and scratch the area I had unwittingly teased. Lea's laugh immediately turns into a deep groan that startles my senses and pounds in my abdomen. I want to take my time in touching her; follow every divine valley and peak. But the fingertips digging at my back say she wants me up against her now. It seems to be a priority. Briskly, she closes the gap between us. "Oh God," I exhale dramatically; this feeling... my gosh, it absolutely warrants it. An incomparable embrace. Bare skin. Her breasts and stomach molding against mine. I can't breathe. I want more. More. More. I sense it in her too. In the way she pushes and pulls insatiably, and the gratifying, involuntary sounds emitted by her throat.

Our combined need now exigent, she stumbles backward and takes me with her, dancing me out of my shoes. I don't look at the floor, just let her guide me as her hands slide down my arms to my wrists and she uses me for balance as, sensing sheets hitting the backs of her knees, she steps out of her heels and sits on the bed. Too stunned to hold on, I let go and watch as she shuffles back, elbows digging at the covers, luring me to her. The trembling in my limbs increases as I climb on and rest my right knee to the side of her. Seeing no obvious alternative — at least not one that keeps me sufficiently close — I place my left knee between her legs: not too high, and just below the hem of her skirt; a skirt I can't quite believe she's still wearing. "I... should I turn the lights out?" I murmur, presuming her to be affected by some sort of diffidence.

"Don't you dare leave me," she demands darkly. The bass beat in my pelvis begins to thump more strongly, resonating up to my chest and echoing in my head. The all-consuming drum striking again and again. Her expression changes. "Unless you need..." I kiss her softly. "Unless you need..." she tries again, losing her way for a second time as I nip at her ear lobe.

I feel the need to answer her half-formed query. Let's see. The light in the room reminds me of firelight. Just enough for me to see every curve and enjoy every subtle emotion played out by her eyes. "I like it this way," I say with a smile.

"Me too," she utters, holding my cheek and kissing the sides of my mouth, first alternately and then full on the lips. Still holding on, she lies back and takes me with her. I slump down and sink against her, hands roaming. Her hands too glide everywhere and, as she traces the slight, arched dip beneath my ribs, I use two fingers to broadly drag out the symbol of Aries over her chest: first skating around one breast, down to her waist and back up to arch over the other. Where to now? Where may I explore? Every part of her is precious to me, yet, again, I am overcome with uncertainty; practice so different to prior potential.

It's so hard not to let quick, passionate movements take over. Should instinct know best? Pulling away from a kiss for us both to recover, I move across a little, my stomach now pressing against her side. I have thought about this so many times. Gently, not ticklishly, I run my index finger over her profile, down her throat, between her collar bones, breasts and beyond. I feel like a cartographer: discovering the lay of the land; tracing the rise and fall; and recording the lines so that I might later replay this sacred topography in my mind. She shivers with anticipation and this life-affirming response reminds me that, first and foremost, I want this to be about Lea.

My left leg, resting atop hers, feels movement as she shifts slightly and begins sliding her calf muscle against mine. So little friction yet so much... delight and warmth. That's the only way I can describe the sensation at every point where her body touches mine. The last pieces of clothing really need to go, but first I embrace an impulse to run my hand up the length of her thigh. I find it strangely erotic to watch her skirt gather as I push, and fall flat as I pull away. On the second and third approach, I use my nails to gently stimulate the area beginning at the knee. Her teeth graze my shoulder and I know I have done something right.

Grabbing my wrist, she stops my arm. "I want it off," she requests. It takes a paranoid moment of hesitation before I understand. Sitting up quickly, and untangling myself from her, I unfold the skirt's waistband, my knuckles digging at her stomach. Once done, her hips rise and I run my hands along the small of her back and down to unzip. Together we push the skirt off, down her legs until she is able to kick it away. Much better. We are equal again. I can feel my heart vibrating in my chest as I contemplate her body lain out before me. Eagerness once again goes out the window as timidness slips back in.

What does she need? While I still have the ability to comprehend her reply, I must bring it up. "I don't want to push you."

Reaching down, she pulls at the back of my knee and tugs my leg back into place between hers. Hands now at my back, I'm maneuvered until my torso lies against hers, more fully than before, my thigh snugly falling between her own. "Please push," she says simply, looking me in the eyes, her pupils so dilated that it's hard to distinguish where dark iris begins and inviting blackness ends.

"I —"

"Anything. Everything," she reassures. "I don't care what you do to me. Just do anything."

Anything. Surely I can't get that wrong. We kiss slowly, gradually re-building the tension lost. She stretches and twists the length of her body against mine, her mellifluous hums of fervent desire reminding me that she wants this. I have the means to make this happen. This _is_ happening. She scrapes her fingernails over my scalp, shoulders, back and then directly beneath my last remnant of modest clothing, which she encourages down until she can reach no more and I must do the rest, which I do.

Gone at last. Unshackled entirely from the trappings of fashion, I lean over Lea, drift the tip of my nose over her throat and up towards her ear, simply breathing her in as I go. A long, resonant moan rips from her throat, unalloyed by self-restraint; it is the most intimate form of flattery. I grin widely. I'm again overwhelmed by it all, but this time I am more sure of myself. If she wanted me completely naked, then I'm allowed to want that of her too. Moving to kneel beside her, I take no instruction in the removal. Intention tacit, she feels the placement of my hands at her hips and rocks beneath me to help shift the fine fabric free of her legs. "Come back to me," she requests. So I do. I will never tire of kissing her.

Now nothing separates us. No restrictions. It feels so natural to push down with my pelvis as her abdomen, and most especially her faintly-jutting hip bones, tilt up against me. The clash, the rub, the heat as we slide intertwined. Again. Again. My breath catches and my cheeks flush, gloriously inflamed. My hips seize as I feel her left leg slide excruciatingly slowly between my thighs and I am swallowed by heavy waters in a sea of delirium. I ache for this. My pulse throbs for this. My... wait. My watch. I don't want anything inhibiting how I touch her. Don't want anything that might mark her skin unless it's my own teeth or nails. I catch Lea's eye, raise the offending item and silently indicate for her to pop the clip so I can sling it off my wrist and push it off the edge of the bed to land with a clunk on the floor. Afterwards, she grabs my hand, looks at the ring I'm wearing and, with her thumb, pushes at the base of my middle finger, half-heartedly nudging the metal and examining its intricately-crafted, wrap-around design. Her eyes close and she frowns.

I panic, but try to sound unfazed. "Say it." Whatever it is. "I'm listening."

"It's nothing," Lea replies flatly, swallowing her nerves.

"Please."

"I'm gonna sound like a jealous bitch," she protests.

Relaxing against her, I lightly roll my fingers through her hair and attempt not to let my pelvis do the talking with indicative motion. "No, you won't," I reply against her left temple. Even if she does, I have a feeling that I might like it.

"Okay." She clears her throat. "I... how many girls have you, y'know, done this with?" she asks, her enunciation breathy and her voice on edge. "It doesn't affect anything, but —"

"Just you."

She looks at me with doubt. "But you've gone out with girls."

"I've kissed a girl or two. I wouldn't have... I couldn't..." I shake my head.

Those eyes again, brimming with emotion all for me. "But you wanted to?" she asks, drawing circles first on the bed, then my lower back. Her confidence is growing.

"I wanted _you_, Lea. Yes, I made mistakes and bad choices in the name of... of comfort and companionship, but somehow the reminder of you would have been too great with a woman. And even if I had taken those opportunities, it would never have been enough of a cure for the pain of not having you." A certain contented sorrow inside makes me smile shyly... because I do have her and already that pain is dissipating. "And I do just want you. Only you."

I receive a soul-enriching kiss of acceptance. Then, looking me over, she seems to have an epiphany of sorts. A sparkle. "I... " She stops short, swallowing hard as I slink my hand over her hip and gently squeeze. "I used to watch you," she says through a juddering, strained nasal breath as I listen, dragging my lower lip along her jaw, "on set and, um, shi... I... on TV. You kissed the guys, and I'd get these, like, tiny... tiny... oh, Dianna." She screws her eyes tight shut. I stop nipping at her collar bone and instead trace the defining lines with the tip of my tongue.

I really shouldn't tease her while she tries to talk, but it's almost impossible not to. I do, however, want to know what she's trying to say. Slow it down. I want to remember it all. She's lost in sensation, so I'll prompt. "Tiny what?" I ask against her shoulder as I work my way up to her ear.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah," she continues with a cute, dizzy shake of her head. "I'd watch you and these get tiny, little curious versions of these huge, crazy fu-_fucking_ —" I can't help myself; she really does smell so good "— butterflies I'm getting right now. You made a complete kid of me, Dianna. Sure I'd made out and done other stuff with girls before, you know that, so it didn't seem out of the ordinary. I thought it would be fun if you and I got to play make... oh God... make-believe." Lea grabs my chin and pulls my attention up, making sure I look her in the eye and stop sapping her powers of cogitation with my lips. "I didn't know I'd fall in love with you," she whispers. "I didn't know it would come to this." She raises her right knee this time, her thigh sliding along my hip. "And that it would feel so right," she utters, punctuating the last few words with a kiss as she twists her body up against me, hugging me to her as I press down. "I just knew —" she pauses and her forehead crinkles "— I just knew how much it hurt inside every time you looked at me. A real good hurt. _Real_ good." She moves under me again to bring the best pressure and I suppress a groan. "I need you."

Addled with lust and love, I am in awe and lost for words, but I'll find ways of communicating. Lea raises her hand before my eyes. A thin row of sparkling diamonds glint. Kissing her fingertips, I slide free the ring and reluctantly crawl up the bed to place it carefully on the bedside table. Shifting position has unintentionally placed my left breast by her mouth and hands on my waist. Got to keep my balance as I take out my earrings. Done. I yank free my own rings to place beside hers. Without warning, I feel Lea's lips latch on, her tongue and teeth pushing sensitivity to its limit. "Lea." My body jolts and I gasp. Clawing at the covers, I attempt to keep still to prevent myself from falling heavily against her, my arms already trembling from holding my position. This is... entirely too much. Best way. In the way I have wished and hoped for so many times. This is no dream. Breathlessly and swiftly, I shift back down her body, then continue lower so that I can do the same to her as she has done to me.

Head pushed back into the bed, Lea wriggles as I clamp down on her right breast, her left contained under my hand. I am enraptured by the contrast of increasing firmness against my tongue and softness against my lips, by how the tiniest movement can inspire her back to arch, her lungs to exhale, and her arms to fling wide to grasp at the crumpling sheets. Yes, I had often thought about Lea naked, and — even when I felt it was wrong to do so — envisaged these reactions in her, but my imagination never predicted this harmonious bliss. Keenly, I move to trace lower, leaving a wet trail of kisses down the length of her body. Moving backwards towards the end of the bed, I come to stop at her stomach. There I lay the longest kiss, my thumbs drawing circles on her inner thighs as her hips jump nervously in the knowledge of where I am headed.

Wanting to give Lea the level of pleasure that I feel goes some way toward balancing the love she grants me, I slip lower, firmly ease her legs apart and make my bold move. "Fuck!" she exclaims as I make intimate contact, her hand audibly slapping across her eyes. Down? Up? Here? More firmly? More delicately? She tries to speak, perhaps to answer my unspoken questions, but what arrives is merely a series of aspirated consonants through fitful breaths. Is that a good sign? I think so. I adore that, despite my inexperience, I have the ability to provoke this reaction in her. My passion for her drives me. There is nothing dutiful about this act, nor is it altruistic: I need this. I hope she realizes that. I have wanted for so long to take her to the pinnacle, to the highest of heights. It is vital and so excitingly new.

Her thigh muscles tense against my hands, subtly aquiver. I sense her heels seeking a foothold either side of me as fingers delve into my hair. I attempt to provoke further profanities from her by being unnecessarily languorous or perfectly fast. She lets me continue for a time, but soon I feel a pull at my shoulders as she makes a bid to guide me back up. "I need you up here," she reluctantly chokes out. Tenderly, I bite and kiss my way along the crease in her thigh. I continue to take my time, tasting every patch of skin that skates past my lips as I slide my way up her body. "I missed you," she utters into my mouth as I draw level with her thoroughly impassioned eyes. "I need you here." I can see in her expression that the change was no reflection on what I was doing to her; she just wanted me closer. It makes my heart hurt beautifully.

Lea's chest heaves against mine as she takes advantage of my position and frantically touches every bit of me that she can lay her hands on. As she rolls her fingers and palms over my ass, I let my head drop heavily against her shoulder. Her other hand descends, pushing down between us and then up between my legs. I... I gasp reflexively as a light tremor catches me off guard. So long. I've wanted this for _so_ long. She whispers into my ear a request to move as one; to do to her what she is doing to me. I close my eyes, tight shut, so that I can concentrate despite her hand's insistent back and forth motion. I almost lose it. "I'd like to put all my attention on you first. Please?" I request. Respectfully, she seems to understand. Taking my left hand, she places it exactly where it needs to be.

I revel in the silken feeling against my fingertips, the undulation of her stomach against my arm, the sight of teeth pinching at her lips, and her loving eyes begging for this to never, ever cease. I'm in no hurry for this to end either. Not at all. The learning continues as I test and study her responses to pressure, direction and depth. A divine piece of interactive art. No, much more than that. Much, much more. She absolutely fascinates me. Like a safe-cracker listening intently for the pivotal clicks in the mechanism, I guide Lea to breathe at my ear; not only as a constant reminder that it's her I am with, proven by the subtle tones of her voice appearing in the notes of her moans, but as an indicator for my continued movement, since nothing better highlights gratification than the minutiae of changes in whimper as the body endures unexpected pangs and twitches of pleasure. Right now I cannot imagine a more fulfilling sound.

But this isn't about sex or orgasms, not directly: it's about trust; about breaking down every barrier, letting each other in and knowing neither will let go. Lea urgently digs her nails into the back of my wrist, clearly hopeful that I'll be impelled to push, which I am: deep and slow. She exclaims aloud and I burn inside gloriously. Tonight we have finally been blessed with a confluence of feelings that now flow together as one. I am so overjoyed to be in her arms, so grateful for anything I can do for her. This is all so extraordinary. Momentarily, she ensnares my bottom lip between her teeth as I try to sustain the movements that she seems to prefer. Then another sweet kiss. She locks my gaze. Life-altering. To be able to look at the one you love and have them look right back at you with equal devotion. To examine every aspect of their features without shame or fear. It is wonderful. It is love.

Nervous adoration stirs increasingly inside of me. I find myself fretful, but I won't let it show. I can't help but worry for what she will feel afterward. La petite mort. The little death. The comedown after the stimulant. I want to keep her high for as long as possible, and so I cautiously prolong the time before desire is killed by satisfaction. Lea's taut limbs strain to flex and concentration shows on her face. Tensing sporadically, as if fighting a hard shake that threatens to rip and tear at her muscles, her breathing increases its rapidity as I maintain my labor of love. I want to take her to the brink and keep her there on the edge. I would do this forever. At some point my body might want to give out, but my heart will never tire.

Lea suddenly pushes her hips up pleadingly. Again, then again. A prompt. "Please," she begs. I recognize my naïveté instantly and so lean in to kiss her passionately, apologetically. I was thinking far too much and acting with too steady and too soft a pace. Selfish of me to want to stay in the moment. Without a second word, I am spurred on. She wants to feel that ultimate relief. Of course she does! Galvanized, I brush aside my fears and assiduously strive for a strong but bearable intensity; a touch that will allow the waves to surge and crash. I feel the desperation in her grip as her thumb absently presses at the crook of my elbow, almost crippling my ability to move my arm. Her toes urgently massage at my ankle. My nose knocks roughly up against hers. Our kisses become poorly aligned as her lips and tongue blindly seek mine while she pants and gasps, moving erratically with every welcome minor jolt caused by my hand and me.

I don't know how I know, but she's close, and I will hold on until the very end. "I love you," I mutter against her glowing cheekbone, suddenly changing the direction of my fingertips and causing her pelvis to twitch sharply, further spiking arousal in me when she lets out a loud, guttural moan. God, I will miss these compelling sounds: this euphonic euphoria. I struggle and strain to sustain pressure as her hips shift. I think... I think this is it. Yes. Yes. It is. Lea becomes lost in my arms, falling victim to the the will of her body as she happily suffers the shudder that comes like no other. Transfixed, I watch as the tremors roll through her in fits and starts. She rocks against my hand, slower and slower as fewer and fewer waves break. And then... stop.

She looks at me, wide-eyed and full of wonderment, chest still rising and caving madly. Tears sparkle in her eyes as she smiles, weary from gratification. "You are amazing."

"I want to make you happy," I reply uncertainly, keeping myself propped up over her by placing my hands either side of her shoulders, but keeping my knee nudged against her inner thigh. I want to know how she feels deep down. Emotionally. Physically. What could I have done differently? Did I hurt her in any way? Was all this too soon for her? Am I enough? Can I make it happen again? And how soon? Does she feel strange?

"I _promise_ you, I am a mess of _very_ happy heartbeats." Looking me directly in the eye, she adds huskily: "You turn me on so much." Sensation bounces hard inside of me, striking roundly at my basic desire to be touched by her. "I love it, Dianna." I wet my breath-chilled lips and just look at Lea, thinking about how far we have come, and consider how fortunate I am. "And I love you," she states succinctly.

I skate the tips of my fingers over her plump lips. "This _is_ real, isn't it? Please say it is."

She opens her mouth and I let her lick and bite down on my thumb. The barest sting of pain says a resounding yes on her behalf. "Yeah, very real," she says anyway, kissing each of my knuckles in turn, all the while seductively keeping eye contact. I thought she would be tired, disinterested, quiet, but she's not. She still wants me. She still loves me. Her interest has not waned in the slightest. Is this how love really should be? I really have been in the dark for too long.

I don't want to ask her for anything in return. That's not what this night is about for me. She is my priority. Of course, she doesn't seem to know that and I don't get the chance to find out what else I can do for her. Eagerly, she steals a heated kiss, then pushes me up with a perfect degree of insistent intent. I am encouraged into a position where I am knelt astride her hips. It is as if she has been flicking through my personal book of private fantasies.

She reaches out and runs her hands up my thighs, thumbs pressing firmly as she ascends to my waist. With daring sweeps up and down my torso, she washes away the knots of nerves and brings an altogether more desired set of bundled tensions. She's making this about me now, and I can't help but want to give in. And maybe I should. As she touches my body, it is as if she is excising every inch of pain and replacing it with warm memories. Healing those emotional scars. "Jesus, you're just _so_ fucking sexy," she utters quietly, almost with disbelief. To hear those words coming from her, from that mouth and with that tone of voice, it just... it makes me want to explode. Her opinion is everything. I could cry.

I lean over and hold onto her breasts for — as if I need an excuse — balance. Shivering, I tilt my hips forward, back, forward, back. Even just these minor movements bring heat and intensity. "I think... I think I need you to touch me," I say, dropping my head forward to look down at her. She smiles as if to say: 'Of course you do!' Her obedient fingers slip down my breast bone, down, down, down. I lean back again and tilt my head back to look at the ceiling. I don't want to see, I just want to feel. "I —" And... and... and, oh my God. Under. In. "Oh, Lea." Hot fucking damn that feels right. Next time I'll do that to her more. I exhale slowly as she draws out a little, then in again. Everything becomes hazy. "F-fuck." Again. My legs are shaking so much; too much for me to stay like this. Suddenly she's not there anymore and is instead pulling me down to kiss her. I am rolled onto my back as either side of me, she sweeps pillows off the bed and they flump to the floor.

My head deliriously drops back onto the mattress as her lips leave mine. She's moving down to kiss and nip her way over all my body, seeking out and plundering my most sensitive areas. Yes. That feels good. More of that, please. There's good, too. Yes! Oh, yeah. Mm hm. Her long hair tickles my side as she moves farther away, but I don't mind. Yes! There as well. That's all I can say. Or not say, since I can no more get sensical words to form than she could in this same situation. Yes. Yes. _Yes_! Just there. Oh God. Fuck! So outrageously wonderful.

Knowing that it's Lea between my legs, pushing at my knees and directing me toward the happier side of oblivion makes it all so damn incredible. I can barely see through the fog of frenzy. Her hands move to grab my waist and pull so that she can exert more force. My fucking good... ness. Her skills far outweigh my own. I want to shout: 'teach me', but I don't have words yet, only ragged breathing and uncontrollable thoughts. The love I feel for her grows larger with every second; I didn't know it could get any bigger or stronger. Being aware that she _wants_ this for me is just astounding.

But I want her heavy against me. Every part of her and I should somehow touch. I manage against the odds to sit up. She recognizes my need and moves back up, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and kissing me back down into a lying position. I'm craving an extreme closeness; a state of conflation where we might never disentangle. Pulling at her waist and back, I hold her tight against me, encouraging her pelvis and stomach to push down. But Zeno's dichotomy paradox is working against me; with an infinite number of halfway points to reach, I can never make the distance. No close can ever be close enough. I need more of her.

I adore the way her legs feel against mine. Her strong thigh moves to press against me and it helps, but I still need more. Before I can attempt to guide her, her clever right hand moves between us. She bites lightly at the tip of my tongue and grabs a handful of my hair as, once again, I'm consumed by the gold-infused sensations driven by the Midas touch of her fingertips. My dexterous, ingenious, proficient, adroit, silver-tongued temptress. The closer she becomes, the more the lines blur. I like it that way. Yet I still need more. "Inside again," I request into her ear, surprising both of us. She seems astonished — not yet understanding quite what blissful power she holds over me — but her responses are quicker than my ability to process. "Fuck," I cry out since it still seems like the only appropriate word I can vocalize.

I hold onto her tightly as she uses her thigh to gently push against the back of her driving hand. Such heat. I feel like there will never be a time I don't feel like this. An indelible mark of pleasure left forever. I am a dropped lit match, turning end over end until the flame consumes itself. End over end over end over end over end. Vertigo of the sexual variety. I've forgotten how to draw breath, but not how to think, and I'm finding I can do nothing but. Flashes of crystal clear lucidity interrupt my ability to focus on pure sensation. When I close my eyes, patterns and shapes rush towards me.

I am a brewing storm formed from rain-heavy air pushed into cool clouds. Raindrops turn to ice inside me. Positive and negative attract and repel madly. Electricity. Stronger and stronger it grows. Stronger yet. I can feel that my moment is close, the zenith point near. Lea leans in to kiss my neck and suddenly I can breathe again. She slows her hand, but adds another element of directional pressure with her thumb. The weight of her body isn't quite enough to suppress the bucking of my hips, and the motion causes Lea to close her eyes, distracted by the kicks of revived stimulation she receives by proxy. My mind swims and swirls as I drown.

Pulling back slightly, she looks down on me. "I want to see you," she requests ever so sweetly. "Please." I know what she means. This in itself adds another level of enticement and excitement. I gaze up at her unblinking and keep looking into her eyes. It's difficult, but not impossible. "I got you," she says. I hadn't even realized I was trembling so much. I am not just a body in this bed. I am hers and she is mine. An equal, loving partnership. I never knew there could be feelings quite like this. I never got it before now. A drawn-out, gentle thrust. A curl of her fingers. An uneven circle drawn. A caressing kiss. They all drive me crazy. It builds and builds, then builds some more until the charge becomes so overwhelmingly great that I'm nervous of its powerful arrival, but I know she won't let me go until... until...

My body succumbs as I relax just enough for it to happen. Lightning and thunder strike simultaneously. A shock of heat like no other flares inside me. I flounder. From under waters saved, I gasp for oxygen just as I am kissed. Bolts of pleasure ricochet through my body as her hand, still positioned as it was before, moves slightly to ride out every jump of my hips. Each one takes me by surprise, but she's there to hold me. Safe and tight. Finally, my tired limbs slump against the disturbed sheets and Lea softly moves in beside me for a caring, weary embrace. Heavy heartbeats pulsate throughout my body.

I have been finally, truly, absolutely liberated from the chains that once held me incarcerated. This act of love has liberated me. She has freed me. None of my feelings have faded. I don't feel empty or sad. I am full to bursting with love and hope. I was wrong: la petit mort, the so-called little death, is not the end of desire, but a revival from the ashes of love. Invigorated flesh torn apart and re-created. A new beginning.

A new life granted by her.

* * *

_"Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,  
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;  
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,  
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.  
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,  
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.  
Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;  
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.  
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?  
__Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love."_  
— Alexander Pope - 'Eloisa to Abelard'

I look on, captivated, as Lea moves from lamp to lamp, switching off each in turn. Her nude, sylphlike figure is now silhouetted only by the silvery slivers of moonlight that stream through the balcony doors, through which a calm, light breeze blows. Breathtaking and so peaceful. I sit up, sheets swathed around my naked body, and watch as she makes her way back to me, stumbling over discarded shoes and clothes. "Holy crap, who put that there?" she grumbles, rubbing at her sore, twisted ankle.

"Marco," I call playfully. Unlike the man from whom this game derives its history, I am not hallucinating this much-wanted scenario.

"Polo." Lea laughs as she pats the edge of the bed to find her way around it. I reach across and grab her wrist. Instinct takes over and I tug her flying onto the bed. "Dianna, stop doing that!" she complains.

"What? It's not as if I've ever done it before!" I protest with a chuckle as she scrambles to tickle and poke my sides.

"You're always doing it, and you know it!" Kissing my upper arm, she climbs under the covers. "I always fall for it! Every time there's a bed near, you throw me, push me, or yank me onto it."

I smile, knowing full well my guilt. I doubt she can see me clearly, though. With my visual senses now dulled, I can better hear the faint Parisian noises, the sound of the sheets as Lea slides over beside me, and the consistent sound of her breathing; the last a sound as comforting as waves hitting the shore. "And what might that tell you?" I ask.

"That either you wanted me in every bed we have ever stood near, or that you're a bitch." I'm pushed flat on my back and she crawls on top of me, lies down, and holds my hands above my head in a surrendering gesture. "Which is it?"

"Let's see." I nod. "Um. Definitely the latter."

"You're silly." She smiles and gives me a peck on the nose. We interlock our fingers as she presses my knuckles into the mattress, snuggling down against me, still holding me captive. I like that.

"I'm silly? You're the one who traveled here on a whim, honey," I bait jokily, hoping for a punitive rebuttal.

"Hey, don't honey me, baby," she replies, suppressing a snicker.

I grin at our joint naughtiness. Silence falls for a while as we listen to nothing, comforted simply by each other's presence. "I'm curious. What made you come here? What made you get to Los Angeles and just turn around?"

I receive a kiss on each cheek, then on the Chakra point on my forehead. "I already told you."

What? I should be on top for this. I take over, rolling her onto her back so that I can pin her down instead, fists either side of her head, my hips bearing down against my suspect under questioning. "No, you didn't," I complain as she lightly moans when her stomach slides against mine.

"Because I'm impatient as hell and I don't like taking anything slow." She pretends to struggle against my grip, almost as if to prove a point.

My heart beats hard as I recall this evening's events. "But what made you realize how I felt about you?" I can think of so, so many occasions when she could have recognized my true feelings. In fact, I may list them for her later.

"I told you. I looked out of my bedroom window and they'd bloomed while we were away on tour."

I stop still for a moment. "You mean the flowers I planted for you? You never said. That's nice." I often wondered about that. "What then?"

"What then?" she asks, confused. "That was it. I saw them and I just knew that what you'd been trying to tell me was true."

"You're serious, aren't you?" I am flabbergasted. "I should have given you flowers years ago if this was the outcome."

"It wasn't the flowers; it was the fact that you remembered."

"Remembered to plant them?" I ask, biting the inside of my cheek so I don't giggle.

Whoa. She uses her strength to flip me back over so she can top me for her own inquisition. "Remembered what color they should be!"

"Oh!" I clear my throat, a little winded. "Ahem. And what, uh, color were they? Red? Pink? Green?"

Becoming increasingly maddened by my behavior, she says: "You know what color they are!" She sits up and I follow suit, pulling the sheets up around her lower back and tucking them behind me.

I shake my head, playing the innocent. "No, I, um, I don't think I do." I'm going to get in so much trouble for this.

"You're lying. You're blatantly lying!" she declares, exasperated.

I give in. I can't help myself, I laugh. "Am I? How do you know?" I ask, nudging my nose against her neck, struggling to keep up the pretense.

"Because I know you, and I know you love me. You wouldn't have planted those particular roses if you didn't love me, so that's how I know that you know what color they are," she enthuses softly, stroking her fingers through my hair and making me shiver with delight.

"I see." I grin. "Well, I do love you, Lea. Heart, body and soul. So you must be right." Clouds must be obscuring the moon's light because I can see her even less now, but that doesn't stop me smoothing my palms over her embraceable curves. Something occurs to me. "I never did kiss you in the dark, did I?" Ruefully, I remember that night when she came to me crying and offered herself up to me; it instils in me the need to atone for that cruel misdeed.

"Wha... oh, that." Lea shifts forward on my lap and gets comfortable, sliding her arms around my waist to clasp her hands behind my back. "You're right, you didn't," she adds suggestively. "And you had me so worked up too."

"Trust me; it took absolutely everything I had to resist you, but I know who I am now. I know where I should be." Without clear sight to guide me, I reach with both hands and seek out Lea's jawline. Ah, there we go. That was easy. Tucking her hair behind her ears carefully, I lean in. The tip of my nose gets tickled by her eyelashes. Oops. I smile, lowering my chin until I sense her breath warm my cheek, every distinct intake drawing me closer. Artlessly, I lightly catch her top lip between mine, then her lower. I know where I am now and so more confidently, but tenderly, kiss her. Her arms pull me closer, curving my spine until we are cleaved together in a heartfelt clinch. She reciprocates in every way, luxuriating in delicate, considerate affection. This is something I've never encountered before: here nothing else matters but this very kiss and the feeling behind it. No expectations. Just comfort.

This is the love I never thought I would have.


	28. Overture

The technical bit: thank you for reading. Don't be afraid to notify me of mistakes. If anyone wants to save the story as an e-book, I recommend heading over to this story on archiveofourown (link on my profile) and hitting the download button. Mobi for Kindle/Kindle app and ePub for iBooks, etc.

The personal bit: You all got me through a few tough years, so thank you again for that. It's been a great learning experience and I appreciate all your feedback greatly.

Don't worry about leaving comments; I just wanted to post the work. My best to you all. Much love and see you around. Claire xxx

* * *

Song of the day: David Bowie and Massive Attack - 'Nature Boy' - _"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return."_

I jolt and blink awake. Again already? It's still so dark and clearly nowhere near morning yet. No point checking the time; it'll only be ten minutes later than when I last looked at my phone. I need sleep and I need it now! Should I go close the balcony doors? Fuck it. The slight breeze is nice and I've always liked the sounds of cities at night; a calming white noise like welcome tinnitus. Any old city and any old bed would do, but no other girl in the world would. Sliding my exposed leg under the covers, I curl up close beside Dianna, one knee resting lightly against her warm thigh. She's lying peacefully on her front, sheets gathered at her lower back, face turned toward me with her hand nudged up to her chin. I don't want to disturb her sleep, but the urge to stroke her smooth shoulder is _way_ too tempting. Okay, once, then I'll close my eyes again. My fingertips come into contact with her skin and a hot, exquisite pain wells in my stomach. My teeth roll over my lower lip as tears threaten to rise. So fucking beautiful. Jesus I... incredible.

I'm completely drained of physical and mental energy; heavy-limbed and weighed down with this amazing love, but that doesn't stop me feeling so damn restless. My wired mind is constantly waking my tired body. Short, weird and vivid dreams about empty airport lounges keep fooling me into thinking that none of this happened. Stupid brain. I wonder how long it will be before I sleep soundly beside her. Days? Months? Years? Maybe it shouldn't, but the thought of that makes me smile self-satisfactorily and a lump forms in my throat. She really does love me. Oh God, I'm just so happy! Way too happy to sleep when I could lie here and... one more touch. It's not like anything would wake her anyhow: I know what she's like; it would take an earthquake. Reaching out, I comb my fingers through her hair and skate my hand over her bare skin. It comforts, warms and calms me so much.

Near the base of her spine, I try to find a particular tattoo. Nope. Can't find it without sight; her skin is too cool. Oh well. Flattening my palm against the small of her back, I squeeze shut my eyes and visualize that New York parlor where I held her hand and watched some guy work ink into her pale skin. Prior to that, like, an hour or so, I had found the courage to tell her I was in love with her; not a night I'd ever forget. The tattoo, as I recall it, was a silhouette of Peter Pan, Wendy and her brothers, all flying off to Neverland. Small but perfect. Whimsical like Dianna. I want to see it again. I want to ask her what made her choose that particular one when I refused to decide on her behalf. I want to ask her how she really wanted to reply when I told her how I felt, and whether the tear that slipped from her eye as she lay prone on the artist's table, suffering under his needle, was for the discomfort or for those words she couldn't say to me.

I sit up and lean over her. It's still too dark to see anything except the faint, highlighted contours of her body. Christ, I wanna bite that butt cheek. Flopping back against the mattress, I try to relax. It's hard. I'm kind of in the same frame of mind as that one time Dianna passed out after mixing a few too many beers with raspberry sambuca liquor. God, I was fucking frantic when that happened. No one else had mattered. I don't even remember how Theo got back to my apartment after I abandoned him. It wasn't right or good, but I didn't care. I was awful to everyone because I was 100% focused on my girl. I made Dianna my responsibility, ultimately prioritizing her over everyone else. Tucking her up in the spare bedroom, I'd gotten her settled, but I couldn't go. How could I possibly leave an angel with broken wings? To do that would've been like abandoning a baby bird that had fallen from its nest.

So, apparently for the second time, I invited myself into bed with Dianna. Practically fully-clothed, I sneaked in and huddled up next to her, barely sleeping because I was worried that she would get sick. Even now, tonight, I feel like I should be periodically giving her sips of water and checking her heart rate. It's gonna be a while before I can completely quit that paranoid, neurotic impulse. I hadn't thought about that particular incident in, gosh, like, forever, having stuffed it down in some dark corner of my mind, but, near the end of the tour, it all came flooding back and caused the cracks in my strong exterior to let a little light in. You see, in a strange way, it gave me hope. Recalling those memories of Dianna drunk made me re-assess my chances. Even back then on that cool fall night of last year, I totally had the inkling that she had a cute crush on me.

Outwardly, I had been guarded but, secretly and guiltily, I'd been over the fucking moon. Then she'd cried and it was like being skewered through the chest, creating and sealing a wound in my heart simultaneously. Piercing. Thrilling. Devastating. My precious girl. For those short moments when tears fell from her eyes, I remember allowing myself to selfishly dream that it was more than a minor infatuation, and that _I_ was the reason she broke down. Naturally, that little self-absorbed ego boost lasted only until I stupidly chose to seek out fault in her emotive words. 'Even if that were the case, it won't last or grow,' I had dismissed. 'It'll just eat her up and make her feel weird,' I confidently told myself. 'It's a rebound thing,' I... yadda yadda yadda.

But, shit, it really was so much more than a crush. I see it all now. She was absolutely, positively in love with me. Rebound shmebound. I still can't take it in. And, even though it might have seemed strange to anyone else, for me, that night has always been special. It wasn't until today, though, that I saw how much of an honest insight into Dianna's state of mind it _really_ was. Not only that, but the events that took place were, in all probability, a huge indicator of my own. After all, I happily endured the force she used to prevent me from smoking one of her cigarettes, and I'll tell it straight: I got quite a fucking kick out of it. Her passionate outbursts had made my heart thump like crazy and, yeah, I had pushed for more. Did I really imply to her that she was hot for Rachel in the vain hope that it would provoke her into proclaiming that she'd like me better? Shit, I did. Subtle, Lea. Subtle like a freight train. Super smooth. But, truly, I wanted to make a difference in her life. And, naturally, I wanted her close. Make my mark. Or maybe, selfishly and simply, I wanted her to want me.

Then... oh gee. Then later there was that self-indulgent peck on her sweet mouth, which I gave to her while she fitfully slept. Heck, we'd gotten so used to kissing on the show and it was... I dunno... I just loved her so much even then. How many times did I crave her kisses and still call it friendship? How many times did I want to know what a real kiss from her, and not her character, would feel like? I doubt she remembers much from that crazy night but, in the wee small hours of the morning, I - like I did a moment ago - moved to lie by her side in the darkness and... home, yeah, that's exactly what it felt (and feels) like. Of course, when at last the sun inevitably rose in the sky, I called myself a weirdo and left before she woke. But I still felt lucky. The luckiest girl.

Unable to keep away from her soft skin, I lazily write my name on her side with my middle finger and let my mind wander to more recent memories. Already, I miss the sensation of her body pressed hard up against mine and can't wait to feel that building, blazing pleasure again and again. The heat. The softness. The secure weight of her on me as I pull at the backs of her thighs and ass. My hand, now moving to draw firm lines back and forth over my rib cage, reminds me of how extraordinary it felt to surrender control and let her hold and caress me. To kiss me. Kiss _me_. For real. At last, we were ourselves; all masks and shields abandoned along with the clothes that were scattered across the room. Nothing seemed as important as what we could do for each other: I was her priority and she was mine. I never knew sex could ultimately feel so... so spiritually, mentally and physically fulfilling. God, I almost wept with happiness when she came, shuddering beautifully beneath me and sighing wantonly: _I_ did that for her. No one else. Me. And as we lay together afterward, it felt so fucking good to rest my head on her chest, ear to her sternum, and listen to her pounding heartbeat as she kissed my head. That's how it should be. That is what I want.

It took so long, weeks and weeks, for it to dawn on me that it could actually work between us. And it does. It works. I once genuinely thought she had embellished her platonic feelings to save me from one-sided affection, but when I saw those roses, I knew what a dolt I'd been in rejecting her advances left, right and center, and not believing she could let me into her heart. It happened. She wants me. Yeah, we both fucked it up a lot along the way, but we're here. And it is _amazing_.

Not quite so deeply asleep as I thought, Dianna sighs and reaches over drowsily. Her arm now lying across my waist, she turns onto her side and pulls me into a cuddle and a slow, sleepy, offset kiss that smudges against my lips. My heart soars and I grin as she stretches and snuggles into me. The sooner I close my eyes, the sooner morning will come, then maybe I'll get the chance to repay a very old favor and wake her with a quake. "Sweet dreams," I whisper as we drift off in each other's arms.

* * *

Wait. Was that my phone? I switch off the hairdryer for a moment, the whine fading to silence. Looking around, I accidentally step on Dianna's discarded watch. Ouch! My wince turns to a smile as I retrieve it from the floor and think back to popping the clasp and watching it slide off her wrist. Our room looks like a small laundry storm hit it. Lucky it isn't wintertime, I guess, or we'd be wading through sweaters. Except that just makes me wanna come back here in December or January; I love the idea of helping Dianna out of anything Fair Isle. For now, I've decided that I'll only tidy what I trip over, mostly because each heap of clothing is a memory that twists tantalizingly in my stomach. Through the day, I'll collect them up one by one. Dianna is not allowed: she's been told outright, and... ha. My bra is hanging off a small bronze statue of a naked man; that is definitely not being moved until I've sent a picture to Jon.

As I step into Dianna's laceless, brilliant-white sneakers, warmth at my bare back suddenly refocuses my attention. I'm now wishing I wasn't already half dressed. "Hey, baby," I murmur contentedly as she nuzzles my neck. I'm never gonna stop calling her that now I've got her. You just watch me.

"Hey," she breathes into my ear after an extended pause. I literally have happy chills coursing throughout my body. Only she could make a one-syllable word sound like pure sex. I'll be dead within a year from her voice alone. Masterfully, she pulls me back a couple steps, picks up the hairdryer, and flicks the switch. The blasting air resumes, this time combined with the tender raunchiness of her hand pushing and pulling at my hair. Holy _shit_, that feels awesome. My eyes practically roll back into my head. Even these simple things slay me. How come she can turn something so commonplace into a semi - or maybe not so semi given enough time - orgasmic experience? She does things to me that no other person has ever...

A sudden quiet. Damn, it's over; my hair is dry. That sucks. Dianna leaves to close up the drawer, but comes back to slink her arm around my middle, sweep my hair to one side, kiss the back of my neck. Flip, flip, flip goes my stomach as her other hand joins the first in slipping over my rib cage and squeezing nice and tight. Then over my tits, palming firmly at my nipples. Jumping Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. I will never get bored with that move.

Earlier, when dawn arrived, it brought out a moderate shyness in the both of us that we needed to wash away, but we're getting better now. No, more than that: we're truly being us, and it's working. Comfortable. Good. Great. Secure. Relaxing my body and tilting my head back, I rub my cheek against hers, grateful murmurs slipping from my throat. I swear I could sleep like this: standing with her holding me up, swaying gently and letting her cradle most of my weight. After a drawn-out, invigorating embrace, we manage to separate: it's a struggle not to cling indefinitely. Dianna floats off quietly singing a song about hitting forty, getting horny, and having no sex, which I sure as hell hope isn't a prediction for our future. Wearing nothing but a white toweling robe - emphasis on the nothing - and hair still slightly damp from our rejuvenating shower, she steps gracefully out onto the secluded, sunlit balcony. Last night I managed to keep my cool because I was so fucking nervous, but this morning I'm excitable and likely to do and say dumb things that spoil the moment. Running out there to leap into her arms right now would be one of the bad things, yeah? We're really high up and, yeah, no.

Okay, it's no good, I'm tidying up; we'll make more mess later anyway. Shoes. Shoes. Panties times two. A little different from liaisons I've had in the past. Shirt. Skirt. That looks better already. What else? Her belt makes me smile when at last I find it, snaking out from under a table. Almost done. I scoop up Dianna's dress and walk around with the collar pressed to my lips, breathing in the divine smell before reluctantly folding it up and placing it on the bed. Hello! One of the hotel's elegant booklets has caught my attention. "Whoa," I mutter, browsing through the pages. "Have you seen the breakfast menu?" I call out giddily, dropping it briefly to throw on Dianna's 'Likes Girls' t-shirt from the tour (a good fit on me) and tie my hair up in a high ponytail. "It's as long as my arm." She seems to think my question is rhetorical because I'm not getting a reply. From her seated position, she looks at me over the top of her sunglasses, smirking as I stride out to take the seat beside her. "Did you know?" I begin. She looks at me expectantly. "In this sunshine, your eyes look like amaretto; I want to drink them." They do, and I really do: amaretto with a twist of vibrant lime.

"Little early for that, charmer." She laughs as I lean in to plant one on her luscious lips. I don't wanna be a glutton for kisses, but damn, it's so fucking hard to pull away, especially when I see her eyes flicker shut behind her shades and she pushes for more. It drives me wild.

"_Never_ too early for that," I reply, deadly serious, sitting back to browse the fancy menu for the second time and wondering if I should bend a few personal rules for croissants and pastries. The answer is clearly gonna be yes, so ticks for those. "I'm having champagne with my amaretto, how about you?" Silence. "We'll get fruit and other stuff you like, right?" Tick. Tick. "Coffee? Tea?" She's too busy looking at the sky. "Me?" I knock my knee to hers to get her attention. "Dianna?" She turns to me, vacant but happy. "What're you looking at?" I ask with an inquisitive shake of my head.

She smiles at me coyly. "Nothing."

My heart is thudding from that look alone. "Nothing?"

Small shrug. "Keeping watch for falling anvils."

Whatever that means. "I love you," I find myself saying through a contemplative sigh. Just thinking about the fact brings me to tears, so I look skyward and take a few cleansing breaths until the need to cry recedes. Her sunglasses come off, clattering onto the table haphazardly, and she leans in to kiss me again. Sweetly, then hungrily. I could float. Her left hand lands on my thigh, thumb pushing under the fabric of these short shorts, causing my breath to hitch. I missed out on passionate Dianna for so long. I hope my life to come will have plenty of days like this. "You do realize that I'm gonna be exactly like Jane Fonda at the beginning of Barefoot in the Park?" I say, breaking for air and nudging my nose against her cheek. "We're _never_ leaving his hotel room."

"Is that right?" she responds with a raised eyebrow, her voice nasal and tight-throated from her own barely-concealed, emotionally-wrought and (call me confident) sexually-aroused reaction. "Sounds like a plan." I instantly remember her comment from last night, made with the same sentiment as mine, and get a little choked up again. But, hell, who cares? I actually live in a world where she wants me as much as I want her. I must have done something right to deserve all this, so I'm allowed to cry about it. "What are you thinking about?" she asks curiously, which I think is quite refreshing coming from Dianna, given that a few weeks ago she'd probably have been nervous of my reply and not asked at all. I'm mesmerized by the sight of her sitting back to take a sip of ice water, her throat taunting and begging me for a taste.

"Aside from how stunning you are?" It's the truth; I'm always thinking that. Morning. Noon. Night. Morning after. "Well, there was something I wanted to mention." May as well take the opportunity. Quick and clean. Get it over and done with so she can get it sorted and we can get back to gazing moon-eyed at each other. Sometimes you have to derail a conversation down a bumpy street to avoid a bad route later on. "Is everything okay between you and Naya?" I ask, smashing the words into a quick, garbled sentence. "On the flight to LA she was pissed at you."

Dianna is taken aback. "Oh! She's not, well, she won't be. I think. Well, she might." She shakes her pretty head, then takes a deep breath, like she's preparing for a punch to the gut. "She knew... knows how I feel about you," she admits, nervously pressing at her portrait-worthy lower lip with two dextrous fingers.

"No way!" Well, I'll be damned. "I always wondered why you girls would turn quiet when I got in on your cosy chats. I was starting to get a complex!" Actually, I was convinced Dianna had developed a huge crush on Naya. Jeez. I'm starting to realize exactly how much of my jealousy was completely unwarranted and baseless. Though I still wish she'd never had to go off with other people to distract her from the pain of loving me. I still feel responsible for anything she did while trying to forget my name. If only I'd been wiser sooner. Sure, the thought stings like a bitch, but I have to get over it because I've got her now. The guys she did, the girls she didn't; they're in the past. Let's forget about it once and for all. Deal, Lea. I grab her glass and take a gulp of refreshing water. "Personally, I let slip to Jon, but I'm guessing that you'd assume that was the case." While we're on the subject. "Chris has known for a few weeks too."

She stares at me agape, completely bowled over. "Shut up!" she exclaims loudly, reminding me of the cutely excitable Dianna I met years ago. "Chris as in our Chris?"

"You shut up!" I tease. "Of course our Chris! Long haul flights tend to make me talk."

Her hand flattens against her chest, pushing apart the sides of her robe and exposing more of her chest. "But he knew even before Naya did. I felt so guilty burdening him with the secret for so long."

"That explains why he went pale when I told him! Well, paler than normal, which is impressive for him." I shake my head in disbelief. "He gave nothing away," I add, sucking on a slim shard of ice. "_Definitely_ wins the award for best secret keeper."

"He certainly does." She smirks and seems to recall something. "They both despaired of me. In fact, since my arrival, Naya's been on me constantly, trying to get me to go home... to knock at your door and sweep you off your feet."

"Oh yeah?" Sounds nice.

"Can't say I wasn't tempted," she murmurs sultrily, pulling at her ear lobe and licking her lips suggestively. "Sorely tempted," she breathes. Flirt.

"I'll have that when we get back please. Every day," I request cockily. She laughs. Hold on. I frown. "Holy moly, if you'd flown home, I could have missed you! I'd have turned up, found out you'd left France, checked into your empty room and sobbed my aching heart out."

Blinking, Dianna shakes her head soberly and waves a finger at me. "Aha. Except you didn't know which hotel I was staying at," she responds, proud of her logic, tightening her robe as she sits up primly; well, more primly than before. She has the perfect posture of a Disney heroine... or villainess, whichever.

Okay. Problem. Did I mislead her? Damage control. I'll try to make light of it. Don't want an argument so soon into our new relationship, even if that might have its own weird thrill since Dianna is, frankly, über hot when kind of mad. "Sure I did. I'm not _that_ much of a moron." Maybe 50%. "Chris was all eager'n'happy to give me your trip details before I left, and he was all: 'Go now', so I did. When I got in, I used a pay phone to call the hotel, and they put me through to your room number, but you weren't here, so I went adventurer on your ass because, as well you know, I don't like waiting around."

"You led me to believe you would have been lost if you hadn't found me!" she blurts sweetly, looking puzzled.

Phew. She's not mad, more relieved. "To be honest, I don't remember much of what I dramatically rambled on about last night. I was apprehensive. It was a completely nonsensical stream of consciousness. Did I talk about mice or some shit? What the _fuck_ was that?" I tighten my ponytail and look at my shoes for a moment. "But I really would have been lost, y'know. Lost without you. I didn't fly out for the sights or the culture or the bread and wine. I flew out for you, to find you because I was done with not having you close, and tired of not knowing what was truly happening between us. I'm an impatient asshole, you know that." Dianna's teeth graze across her lower lip and her eyes glaze over, evidently affected by my poorly-expressed words. "And, in my defense, any weirdness was due to the fact that I was trying to find you to see if you wanted to _be_ with me. All the while knowing that if you shot me down, which you could have done, I was gonna need to rely on your sympathies in helping me find a room for the night. Y'know?" In other words, I kinda wanted her to feel sorry for me. Was that mean? Maybe I should have gone for charm offensive instead.

She tucks her hair behind her ears, leans in, and begins gently running her hand over my forearm. "You didn't even book a room before you left?"

50% moron and 50% sure she'd let me in her bed, if only to sleep. It's not like I couldn't have talked the hotel manager into helping me get my credit card working anyway. "I didn't want it to sound like I'd planned an itinerary for stalking you, complete with telescope poking out of a high window. Equally, you'd have probably thrown me in the Seine if I'd knocked at your hotel room door and just said: 'Hey baby, I'm pretty damn sure you're into me, so how about a quick fuck?'" Dianna's eyes widen. Okay, crap, huge mistake. See? Excitable. Bad! Take back. Take back. "N-not that that's what this was about," I stutter. Damn it! "That's _so_ not what you are to me." Hand on heart. "I don't wanna be casual with you. Anything but. I -"

"I know." Music to my ears. She smiles knowingly, squeezing my elbow tightly. Yeah, she knows that I make regrettable, glib remarks at inappropriate moments; I've done it a thousand times. She sits back comfortably, picks up her camera from the table and begins toying with the settings. "How is it that you combine sexy and adorable so easily?" she asks, shooting me a furtive glance, her eyes sparkling.

Oh, come on. She's playing me now. "All natural. Self-taught," I reply self-mockingly.

"No, I really mean it." She looks at me, gravely serious, camera dropping to her lap. It's not just a compliment, it's her way of reminding me that everything she says is truthful and she wants those feelings out in the open. The tip of her tongue dances against her front teeth as my name drops several times from her lips. "To me, you are the most splendid, beautiful, wonderful creature I have ever known, and I can't believe I was such a fool for letting you slip through my fingers for so long." She inhales deeply, then exhales slowly. "And to finally have you close is the most extraordinary thing I have _ever_ experienced. My universe has completely expanded. I'm richer for it. Better for it. And now that this love is physical, the thought of your hips, your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, shoulders, back, oh God, yes, your back and waist, absolutely every bit of you," she near shouts, hands waving, "is... is... gonna keep me _so_ warm at night." Her eyelashes bat ferociously at me. "And I trust it won't just be the _thought_ of you that will keep me warm."

Wow. I am blown away. Empowered and enlivened. Not only that, but this out-and-out coquettish behavior is gonna take some getting used to. Bashfully, I push down on the seat of my chair, look away and smile, my chest swelling with a tingling, hot joy. Click. She snaps a picture of moi. "Hey!" I object. "I wasn't ready. No fair."

"For posterity!" she exclaims innocently.

"I'll take a picture of your _posterity_ if you keep on being naughty," I kid, ripping the camera out of her grasp.

"C'mere," she beckons with both hands, but she doesn't mean for me to give it back; it's me she wants. I get up and go to sit sideways on her lap. She doesn't try to stop me from looking at her photographs, and instead hugs my waist and bites playfully at my sleeve. Peering at the viewfinder, I scroll through the pictures from the very beginning. Cloud. Street. Boulangerie. Wine bar. Eiffel Tower. Bicyclist. Selfie. Selfie with strangers. Strangers. Strangers and Eiffel Tower. Café. Salad. French pastries. A beautiful art nouveau building. Amazing street artist and his art. Riverside. Bridge with padlocks secured to it. Padlock close-up. And another. "Hey... did you?" I tilt the screen her way.

She shakes her head and her sunlit hair tickles at her angelic cheeks. "No. No. I came across it purely by chance."

"Oh." I look again at the photograph, hitting zoom. Oh yeah. The lock is rusted. The initials D and L are faded and scratched.

"I seriously considered it as, well... as a pledge of my feeling for you, but then I overheard two women from a tour group quietly discussing how many Parisians are mystified by the notion of a lock being used to represent love," she explains, looking up at me with soft eyes of concern, "and how the greatest loves are about freedom and loving someone enough to let them go." Hello. Someone needs to re-watch the end of Beauty and the Beast: the best loves are the ones where they come back.

"Well, I'll tell you a secret," I say softly as her thumb digs and massages my hip tantalizingly. I'm pretty sure that she knows what I'm going to say, but that doesn't stop me. "I don't want you to let me go." I can see it in her eyes: she can't let herself tie me down, but she sure as anything wants to. I want her to want to. Heck, I'd be more than happy for her to tie me down in _all_ sorts of ways. Enjoying the stimulation of her reassuring touches, I look up and take in the landscape, listening to the low grumble, screech and beep of busy traffic, as accompanied by distant restaurant clatter, and coupled disharmonically with a woman on a balcony far below arguing in German with a meek-voiced man. Even from this distance the Eiffel Tower is awe-inspiring. To think, half a day ago I was wandering around under that grand piece of architecture, softly singing Barbra's Clopin-Clopant to myself, kicking the air and making silly wishes on twinkling stars.

"We _can_ go out, if you like," Dianna says, quietly catching my attention by stroking my right leg from thigh to ankle. A cloud passes over and I blink as the light repeatedly dulls then brightens again, casting wavering shadows across our knees. "Say so if you want to. I can control myself in public. For a while." She indicates a small amount with her hand. "Very short while." Cheeky, magical, sexy-ass perfect girl. My jaw tightens and my throat constricts with a wave of emotion that rises up from my chest. I twist at the waist and pull round to face her more fully. We look each other in the eyes. No hesitation. Open. Inviting. Curious. Full of adoration. "Truly," she adds. Her voice is pure comfort and safety to me. "I'm braver now, Lea. I'll do anything and everything your heart desires."

"I just want to stare at you all day," I confess, eager for her to feel the same, and I think she does because her face now carries a look of pure serenity. Click. "For posterity, right?" I whisper mischievously, holding the camera up at arm's length, lens directed at the both of us. Dianna nods and chuckles cutely, taking me by the cheeks and catching me off guard with a slow, enticing kiss. Click. Click. Oh, forget it. I don't want to be holding a camera when I could be tackling my way into her robe. I try to place it down without opening my eyes. Where's the damn table? It was there a minute ago. Ah, there we are.

Biting her way down my neck, she pulls this t-shirt's neckline wider so she can nip at my shoulder. "Breakfast in bed?" she asks against my collar bone. Jesus. Those are the three sexiest words she could ever possibly say to me. "Room service came when you were drying your hair." Fuck me, it gets better. I like Dianna taking control a whole lot more than I ever thought I would. "I made a few presumptions about what you'd want," she advises sweetly. "I got quite a lot so I hope you've got a good appetite." Do I ever not? "Nothing hot, though. I'll call down for some fresh coffee for you. I should have thought about that."

"No," I object through a moan as her hand confidently escapes under the front of my shirt. A thrill of sudden shudders shakes my abdomen. "It'd only get cold while I'm feeding you grapes or whatever. Besides, you are _more_ than enough of a stimulant on your own." Through the fabric, I grab her hand and move it to lie over my heart, which is pumping so hard I feel like her palm might get bruised from the steady, rhythmic punch of it. I hope she can feel its strength. Everything around me seems to get that bit brighter as background noises fade. All I can really concentrate on is my breathing and the journey her hand makes as it follows the movement of my increasingly-heaving chest. "See?" I prompt.

Her enchanted expression becomes contemplative. "I've never seen anything more clearly." The statement seems to echo in my mind as I am distracted by her wandering fingertips that begin to descend over my stomach, landing to push lightly and suggestively at the stiff button on these shorts.

I lean in to stroke my fingers through her soft, now-dry hair and run my lips over the shell of her ear. "We'd better get inside," I mutter as her eyes flutter shut, "so you can get some clothes on."

"Oh! I thought -"

I silence her with a kiss that fills me with shivering tingles; they travel from the tip of my nose to my air-tapping toes. "It's okay. We're not going out," I say with conviction, causing Dianna to frown at me with confusion. "It's just that, as much as I love you naked -" gradually and gently, I pull aside her robe "- I _really_ love the process of getting you that way." Getting up, I take her by the hand, dragging her laughing into the bedroom. "Any objections?"

Taking me into her arms, she shakes her head, her blonde hair swaying gloriously. "Never."

* * *

Last night's movie: Dancer in the Dark - _"They say it's the last song. They don't know us, you see. It's only the last song if we let it be."_

Just when you think the rollercoaster is ending, you get thrown screaming into another loop-de-loop. I look up just as Dianna's eyes grow wide with shock. "Did you not - for even one second - consider what this would do to us?" she bellows at me, stealing my breath and freezing my heart. I'm supposed to be the bull-headed one here, but it's hard to be strong when she stands there with stiff-shouldered, matador-like confidence, cloaking every one of my words with her own.

"You've always known that's what I wanted," I reply, pacing around and rubbing a tight muscle in my upper arm. "I thought you wanted it for me too."

"Oh, and that's just it, is it?" She is on the verge of tears, but still every word sounds scathing and vitriolic. "New York. Well, congratulations on finally moving on. I'll be sure to step out of your shadow when you enter that limelight."

My teeth gritted, I prepare myself before shouting back: "It's not like that, and you know it!"

"Yes. It is!" she shouts bitterly, almost shaking the walls of her trailer and driving a semi-thrilling chill up my spine. "Everyone knew about the audition but me; how is that right? You can't keep doing this to us."

"I'm not pushing you away," I say. My chest tightens and my quick pulse slams blood through my veins as I watch Dianna push her hands roughly through her hair. "Far from it. I want you there with me." I lick my dry lips and stab at the air between us with a pointed finger. "I'll talk to people. I'll make it happen for the both of us." More than anything, I have the intense desire for her to hold me and never let go.

"Don't pretend you owe me anything." Her strong exterior continues to crumble rapidly as she bites down on the side of her glossy lower lip. That sad face absolutely breaks my fucking heart.

I take her hand but she shakes it away, so I try an uneasy smile instead. This is hard. So hard. "It will be fine because we love each other," I suggest. Dianna throws me a shifty, uncertain glance. "Y-you do still love me, don't you?" I ask hesitantly.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs sharply. "Kind of."

It's a flagrant lie, its sole purpose to cause pain. Nevertheless, I feel smothered and small, completely eclipsed by the darkness that she projects. "Is that all I've become to you?" I ask, my throat beginning to constrict painfully. This horrible feeling cuts and tears at fears kept deep inside. I can't avoid the unwanted feelings that rise up. My hand shakes as I try to make a fist to help keep ahold of my fading inner strength, but it's no good. Biting at the inside of my cheeks, I attempt to hide the tears that burgeon. What... what am I supposed to say next? I'm completely lost. All gone. I cant focus. All forgotten. I try to read the words, but they seem to swim off the paper like raindrops down a pane of glass. What does that say? We? No, it's we're. We're what?"

Dianna's script quietly flops to the floor. With hazy vision, I make out her figure advancing just as her hands skip straight under my sweater and slide firmly up my bare back. I'm bumped firmly up against her. Real hard. The best sort of fierce embrace. We both gasp as, swiftly and sweetly, her cool mouth captures my hot lips, instantly curing the hurt and concentration that must have shown on my face. My lungs strain for air because I don't want to pull away; I only want her nearer, deeper. She takes a sharp nasal breath and my stomach clenches pleasurably. "I love you _so_ much," she whispers with determination and warmth, laying further kisses of reassurance across my face and swiping away the tear streaks from my cheeks with her soft lips. "You know that, don't you?" she sighs against my forehead.

"Yes, baby, I know." This time I taste salt on her tongue as she kisses me again, this time even more assertively as she roughly squeezes my body tighter in that way she knows I love. In that way she knows I need. "I know," I quietly repeat, before moaning as she breathes me in and I struggle against the urge not to pin her to the floor and make love to her right here to prove that it's true. We both know that taking things further is a no go, but that doesn't stop our kisses remaining heated. Clutching at her shoulders, back, hips, ass, everywhere, I feel my head become fuzzy as pins and needles start to prickle sensation down my sides and legs. Jesus. She makes me feel so fucking good. Just a few seconds more. And more. Please.

But time is short and there's work to be done. So, like the lovestruck couple that we are - still in that honeymoon period and with no intention of leaving any time soon - we kiss more and more softly until only air meets our mouths and we part, her hands sliding down my back to rest at my sides where they tug and tease suggestively at my waistband. With a squint, I smear the heel of my palm across my cheek and clear my throat. "You didn't have to come to my rescue; I was only doing the crying bit, silly," I titter dismissively through a shaky exhalation, picking up and flapping the page with that particular stage direction on it.

A little wary, she runs off to grab a box of Kleenex. "I thought you were having a moment."

Frankly, I probably was. It took us ages to lay down a good recording of our duet of Winter Song because I kept having mini breakdowns. "Okay, I guess I _kind of_ did," I try to joke through a sniff as she stuffs a bunch of tissues into my hand. I foresee having a gazillion 'moments' when we get around to filming the scenes where Quinn gets a taste of her own Season One medicine and gets bullied, taking an already fragile mind right over the edge. It's gonna be fucking hard to see her laid up in hospital. Majorly hard. Agonizing. But something tells me it will all be worth it in the end. After all, pain makes us appreciate what we have, doesn't it? "You're too convincing!" I tell her.

"No, I'm not," the lady protests. Lovingly, she strokes my cheekbones and gives me a peck on the nose.

"Do I have to hit you over the head with your Emmy?" I reply. She laughs loudly. "God, Dianna, can't we just be a contented couple on the show _all_ the time?" I request vehemently. You'd think that working together all the time might be bad for our own relationship, but it's never felt like that with her. No time is time enough. "It would be _so_ much easier and way less stressful. This is torture!" I know we're playing teenagers, but surely we don't have to have relationship troubles every other fucking week. Who breaks up at Christmas time? Yeah, Rachel and Quinn, that's who.

"Did you hear? I'm going to have that little rebellion soon." She purses her lips, turns on her heel, sits down and begins flipping through her iPad calendar, a smirk pinned to her mouth. "It's not absolutely set in stone, but I'm in on Friday for hair and make-up tests, then - if all goes well - I'm due to be arrested next week," she hints with a wink.

"Yeah? You didn't tell me they'd gone in that direction! That's hot!" Suddenly I feel a whole lot better. Rough with the smooth.

"Hey!" she chides, reaching out to grab my hips and sway me closer.

"I'm your girlfriend. I have super special rights. I'm allowed to call you hot and you're not allowed to deny it!" I stick out my tongue at her and flop down by her side, my cheek falling to rest against the arm of her thick, loose cardigan. "I had better be the one bailing your ass out, or there'll be hell to pay," I say, pulling at the cuff of her sleeve, wondering if Ryan will borrow our own story and have Rachel stop Quinn smoking. "Gotta keep the sexual tension at its limit so that the writers feel obliged to get us back together."

"Oh, have we?" Dianna says as I sit up straighter. "And how do we do that?"

Like she doesn't know already. "Well..." Demonstratively, I move to run my hands slowly over her arms, then thighs, barely touching any part of her. Getting closer, and blinking extra slow, I let my nose drift past her jaw. Then, just as she goes to lock lips with mine, I inhale with a shudder and pull back, smiling bashfully. "Like that." That was actually really difficult since my body is still buzzing from our earlier embrace.

"Ah, of course." Oh, come on, she so knew that already. How could she not? We're consummate professionals when it comes to not kissing when that's all you ever really want to do. "The almosts," she adds, staring at me darkly like she wants to take me back to bed and do very, _very_ naughty things to me. Fuck.

"That too: the hungry looks," I agree without prompting, getting lost in her eyes more than a little, but no more than usual.

Bemused, she ruffles her hair and I have to kindly remind myself for the twentieth time today that our trailers are _not_ sex-friendly zones. Not great soundproofing for a start. "I wasn't doing a look," she claims.

Oh. So that lusty glance was incidental and not for play. Now I _really_ wish we were at home. Her home. My home. Any-fucking-where we could be alone and resolve some of this built-up fighting tension. But we're here, and no matter how tough work can be, at least I get to be with her. I look down at her script on the floor. Strangely, I'm fond of this one particular scene we're rehearsing. It reminds me of when we were new to our roles and every day seemed to bring fights by the lockers, then cupcakes and apologies by night. We console each other in a very different way nowadays, making up for these made-up arguments in an all-new positive way. Okay, there are cupcakes too. Cupcakes and sex. Plus plain old love, security and understanding. "Are you coming to my place tonight?" I ask, giving her knee a brief encouraging squeeze.

"Project with the girls, sweetheart. Remember?" she replies with a wince, sorry for having made plans.

Right. "Oh yeah. I'll miss you," I say grumpily. Holding my chin, she gives me a kiss that lingers sweetly. "Hey! I've told you before. No kissing the pout," I pretend to scold. Honestly, I really _don't_ mean it.

"But I love kissing the pout," she replies, putting on a sulking face equally pitiful as my own and I can't help but smile. "You know that you're more than welcome to come along."

We're very much our own people and, personally, I believe diverse interests are healthy in a strong relationship. I love seeing her get out there, embracing life, and being happy. Then, for me, the best happens when she comes back at the end of all it and relates her discoveries with those magical eyes sparkling. "No. No. I'm good. I'll spend my evening curled up in front of the TV with the other great love of my life," I bait. "Sheila and I will send you lots of sleepy selfies."

"Stop taunting me with your kitty cuddle pictures!" she requests with amused exasperation. Yeah, well, she's always doing the same to me with puppy snuggles pictures. "It's mean," she whines, tackle hugging me and suckling wickedly on my neck. I'll get a mark; I know it.

"You love it," I smirk, not really wanting her to stop, but pulling her off me anyway to avoid a state of desire that's impossible to escape. We interlock fingers and I tug her hands down. Out of the blue, I say: "Do you remember that day we were in here and I told you that Rachel loved Quinn, and you looked like you were gonna hurl?" I like ribbing her about those days that feel like forever ago.

"How could I forget?" She quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Yeah. And then I told you it had all been my idea and you looked like you were trying to disappear through the wall?" I chuckle, remembering the conversation all too well.

She cringes visibly, her nose wrinkling. "You must have thought me very rude."

"Well it wasn't the shot in the arm I was looking for!" I laugh, but - regardless of knowledge to the contrary - I immediately feel an unnerving sense of unease when I think about how she looked at me that day. The looks of sallow-cheeked fear had kicked my self-confidence right out the door and sent it clattering down the metal steps. It seemed to me at the time that the thought of playing my lover made her physically ill. "You totally put me off asking for a practice first kiss." Dianna narrows her eyes cautiously and presses her lips together, peering at me intently. My heart drops like an anchor in heavy waters. Splosh. I am so utterly sunk for her.

"You're kidding," she suggests uncertainly, clutching my hand securely.

"Am I?"

So today we break up on camera, but I believe it will only make me cherish what we have more than I thought possible. It's so hard to remember ever not loving Dianna. I couldn't possibly imagine it gone, and I'm sad to think there was a me who didn't know what this breathless sensation is like. In the beginning, I didn't know what I needed because I was only looking for what I expected to find, messily coloring between the lines of a generic life template and calling it a plan, a route, a path. Loving by numbers, if you like.

Sometimes I wish I'd figured out sooner that everyone has the right to start afresh with a blank canvas and create a whole new exciting picture for themselves. If I had, Dianna and I might not have spent so long dancing around each other (often literally). Did this love and attraction always lie under the surface, waiting for me to accept what I wanted? Maybe the entire course of our friendship was a gorgeous, drawn-out courtship, with every touch and kiss along the road building years of subtle foreplay. Yeah, that's what I tell myself. I like it that way. It's the only thing that somehow makes sense. We were always in love, right?

The overriding burn I feel... I can't control it. I didn't light it. We've all had those people we liked and wanted more of, so we doused our insides with alcohol and tossed in a few matches to make our bodies feel like they're in love, but those fires died fast. It wasn't like that with her. She set me alight when I didn't even ask for it. She's given me butterflies from the day we met. Only now do I completely understand the warmth that grows every time we're together. Maybe that's why it'll last. I hope so. I hope to God this lasts.

I don't get a reply because she knows my mind. Instead, she grasps my cheeks and looks at me like nothing else in this world matters. The conversation ends there, sealed with a loving kiss.

* * *

Song of the day: Wonderwall - 'Oasis' - _"And all the roads we have to walk are winding. And all the lights that lead us there are blinding. There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how. Because, maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me."_

EARLY 2009

"I don't know how I'm gonna deal with these fights we gotta keep having," I say, knocking the indicator, tugging the steering wheel round and glimpsing to my right; not at the wing mirror, but at the very pleasant company I'm keeping. I straighten up the car, pulling my eyes back to the road just in time to brake a little late for a red light that is suddenly emblazoned high on the dark sky. While stopped, I turn my head again. This girl, she's... she's _so_ pretty, like oh-my-gosh-what-the-actual-fuck pretty. Long blonde hair that she's been talking about getting cut, sublime legs that for some reason she rarely shows off higher than the knee, a spectacular body which she thinks is nothing special, style and grace effortlessly coming out of her textbook perfect ears, and those eyes... those eyes that just say: 'come on in; mi casa es su casa'. "It's fun, but you are _way_ too nice to get bitchy at, Dianna." Everyone on set seems to have started calling her Di, but I'm gonna stick to my guns. Her name is too pretty not to be said in full. And I guess I kinda like being set apart. I want to stand out in her world. Why? Just, well... because! The lights change. I ease the gas and we move off again.

I hear infectious laughter from the passenger side as we turn another corner and the headlights of an oncoming vehicle blind me for a second. "I'm the one who has to call you names!" she replies, defiantly. "So I'm the one who should feel bad, and I do. Awful!"

I shrug and relax back into my seat, checking the dash. No wonder her roommate gave me the most pissed look ever when I knocked on their door: it's 4.20am. Not usually my favorite time of day, but with her it feels like magic hour. She is, like, the most genuine and loving person ever, and I feel incredibly lucky to be able to call her my friend. "Anyone who knows you, knows you're not that mean person," I insist, tapping the wheel in time with the beat of the Queen song currently playing. "You're a wonderful actress with an amazing soul."

"Oh, I'm in love with you already!" she giggles.

My chest swells with pride and I smile shyly. She says that to absolutely everyone: friends; co-workers, make-up artists; repair guys; crazy people in the street; a wild coyote we saw eating garbage the other night, but, hey, I'm the one giving her a ride today and there's no one else here, so I'm gonna feel great regardless. I wonder how the public is gonna react to my character. "I'm pretty sure there are a lot of people who won't see the difference between me and Rachel."

"I can." She seems so sure.

"Really?" I ask, sincerely interested; after all, Rachel and I, naturally, share quite a few traits and not all of them virtuous. All I get is a firm nod. Uh, okay, then. I guess I've no reason _not_ to believe her. I sure as hell need people around me who know me well so, sure, let her be one of them. She's already such a positive presence on set: a delight to have around. Each day we're together I find myself honing in on her to see if I can get close enough for those good vibes to rub off. "You'll have to give me lessons on that edge-of-uncontainable-emotion thing you do with your eyes."

"I do a thing?" she asks sweetly.

Oh, Dianna. "Yeah, you do a thing." We pass another billboard and I daydream about a time when we'll be featured. All the Glee kids together. "I still don't know how they expect to realistically have Rachel steal Finn from you."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

Hello? Duh. She really is blind to her own assets. I wave my hand roughly in her direction. "Because you're, y'know." I lose my words as out of the corner of my eye, I see her scoop her hair up and tie it back messily. "You're _spectacularly _gorgeous and no one in their right mind would ever give you up." There, I said it.

"No, no," Dianna dismisses, then shakes her head to indicate I didn't understand her question. "What do you mean by 'realistically'?"

I cluck my tongue impatiently. "I'm no competition for a girl like you."

She chuckles at me. "You're funny."

"I don't get it. Why are you laughing?" I'm not telling her off, only curious.

"Because you're joking." She frowns cutely.

"I'm serious." Yeah, I play the clown a lot, but not right this minute. "You know that I got turned down for a whole bunch of jobs because of this face and figure. If it weren't for my family - and I'm not saying I'm not confident about and proud of my looks, but when you've been kicked down... I... I... " This time I'm distracted by her now completely bemused expression; the car swerves a fraction and I drift into a different lane. Oops. Lucky traffic is quiet before sunrise. I'll pretend I did it on purpose.

"Never think about those people, Lea." Her voice becomes stern and powerful. "Don't give them one millisecond of your precious time or consideration," she expresses with clench-fisted certainty. "They're wrong. Utterly wrong. They missed out and, to be frank, I'm glad, because it means that destiny brought you here. Kismet playing you into our hands; right where you needed to be."

I beam unashamedly. Compliments from Dianna, no matter how indirect, feel like they come sealed in their own gold envelopes marked 'Winner'. I need to keep this woman in my life, and I mean physically and mentally _need_. If we don't get renewed, I'm keeping her number in my contacts forever. She is an exceptional human being. "You remind me of my grandfather. He used to say, uh..." Shit. What was it? "Oh! 'Bei mir bistu shein', which, uh, it's, like, shamefully, one of the very few Yiddish things I know, and I think it means -"

"'To me, you're beautiful'." Those golden words seem to hang in the air, blending in with the soft drone of the engine. I start to wonder if I actually woke up this morning or whether I'm still dreaming. Yeah, I know, she's just translating, but can I help if it makes my heart skip? "Or 'beside me, you're beautiful'," Dianna suggests, "but I'd opt for the former, otherwise it sounds as though the speaker makes you more lovely thanks to their presence, which clearly isn't the case, and I'm sure that your grandfather would have agreed." Yeah, she's blessed with brains too, but I knew that from day one. "Beauty like yours doesn't need company in order to shine, Lea."

Beauty like mine. Wow. Say that again and again, for the rest of my life. There aren't many people who can say things like that and have me believe it, but for some reason Dianna is one of them. Right now she's making me nervous; it's like pre-stage nerves: adrenaline from the sheer flattery of her kind words. I feel full up and warm inside, like there's corn in my tummy that's on the verge of popping. Before I can thank her, she's back on the subject and looking all kinds of excited.

"I adore the Andrew Sisters' fun and lively cover, but the original holds a special place in my heart," Dianna says with expressive hands. We cruise toward the studios, street lights casting an intermittent, flashing glow across her eyes and cheeks. I can't seem to fully concentrate any longer, catching only every other word. Somehow I manage to catch the gist of her explanation of how she came to learn the lyrics from a teacher at Hebrew school.

Wait, lyrics? "Hold on. Skip back. Bei Mir Bistu Shein is a song?" I must sound so dumb.

"From a 1930s comedy musical, yes," she confirms like a walking, talking Wikipedia. Well that explains why Grandpa would usually walk away humming a tune after he said it. How did I not know this? Dianna perks up and starts asking me questions about work, oblivious to the fact that she just screwed with my head by altering a dozen childhood memories. "So do you? Do you think we'll ever sing a duet on the show?" she queries again.

Dianna's got game when it comes to singing; there's a real sexy edge to her voice. "If I had any sway over the plots -" now there's a pipe dream "- we definitely would." Gently, she touches my elbow as a gesture of thanks. My stomach twists and tightens strangely. Pow. Popcorn everywhere. A shock of palpitations makes my heart and eyelashes flutter.

"Mm?" she prompts, even though I never said anything aloud.

"I was thinking how weird I am sometimes," I reply, reeling from the odd, lingering sensation that is still thrumming through my arm and making my head feel like it's stuffed with cotton balls. It's not like we've never hugged and stuff - we do that all the time - so why one touch would startle me, I've no idea. I don't think it's because she's super attractive. No, it's something different. All I know is that, when she pays me even the slightest bit of attention, I feel so overcome but comfortable too. Like falling knowing you'll be caught. This girl is one of those books you just can't seem to put down.

"I'm weird too," she reassures under her breath. "We can merge your weird and mine and fall, as the quote goes, into a mutually satisfying weirdness." I see her draw shapes in the fine mist of condensation across the car door window as she muses on something more serious. "So come on. How do you think Rachel's heart should be won? What would you write given the opportunity?"

"Uhm. Let's see." I like this game. "It'd have to be personal. Y'know, like personally important. Rachel would appreciate it if someone really paid attention and listened. So, yeah, it's _gotta_ be yellow roses."

She shoots me a curious look as we turn into the parking lot. "That was a quick decision." Pondering this for a moment, she licks her lips. "Yellow?"

"Come on. Think about it. Funny Girl!" I exclaim. "You know as well as I do that the roses are kind of iconic in it, and it's _so_ Rachel's favorite movie since it represents - and encourages - her desire for success against the odds. And so, yeah, yellow roses to mean: 'I love you'; yellow roses to imply: 'I respect who you are and what you want out of life'; and yellow roses to say: 'I know what your favorite movie is so we should, like, be together forever'." Right? I'm right, aren't I? It's not about the flowers themselves; it's about the thought behind them.

"That makes perfect sense." Dianna grins widely. "And this is only Rachel you're talking about?"

Oh, I know what she's getting at here; I'm not falling for that. "Hey, you were the one who said you knew the differences and similarities between me and my character, so I'm not telling." Keeping quiet, she looks down at her lap, all smug and self-assured. Well, let's face it, she's gonna be right, isn't she? We stop in my usual parking spot and I turn off the engine. "So... big day today. Ready to learn this new dance?" I poke her in she shoulder as she releases her seatbelt.

I'm greeted by warm, inviting eyes. "Absolutely. Promise you'll hold my hand if I get stuck with the moves?"

"Help you?" She's a dancer! "You won't need me to do that," I dismiss.

"Oh, I need you. Definitely." She tilts her head and, as she catches my eye, I feel as though she's reading my mind. At last the silence breaks. "How could I ever be without my funny lady?"

God, I just know that I'm gonna love this girl.

THE END


End file.
